Black, White & Gray
by Lady-Dijana
Summary: You can't control what the future brings. Christine had lived a normal life, a good life by any standard. Though she doesn't know it in the beginning, her life changed the day she touched Michael Myers. There's a fine line between love, hate and murder...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Halloween or anything from the books, movies or anything else really... though the characters I bring to life are my own

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**Black, White & Gray**

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**Prologue**

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Fall - 1983

It was raining cats and dogs this morning, at least that's what it looked like from the windshield of her old beat up hunk of junk someone might have once called a car. The engine rumbled like an asthmatic old smoker, the radio had been dead probably long before she was even born nineteen years ago, the wheels screeched at _every_ turn and the drive shaft groaned every time there was even a slightest bump or tremor. The driver hoped it would at least get her to her destination in one piece. It was almost completely dark outside because of the storm clouds and mist. She could barely make out her own headlights, much less anything else. Gripping the steering wheel and leaning forward to try and see the road better, Christine groaned as the engine sputtered and smoke billowed out in front of her. **"You've got to be kidding me…" **

She barely managed to ease her lemon colored nightmare off the road before the car died completely. Gritting her teeth, she fought the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel. God she hated this piece of crap. Grabbing the huge bag sitting beside her, she almost climbed into it to find her watch. She already knew she was behind schedule, but the important question was how much? Pushing the wisps of hair escaping her bun out of her eyes, she flipped the antique gentlemen's watch open and stifled a growl – it read three thirty - the battery was dead. **"Perfect, just fleeting perfect!" **Throwing the useless hunk of metal back into the bag, she grabbed the map from the dash, her coat from the back seat, and then just sat there dejectedly staring out the driver's side window at the downpour **"I seriously don't want to…" **but she had to. She was already late for her first day as an intern at the Sanitarium, and from what she could tell over the phone, her new boss would definitely give her a hard time about it. Shrugging on her coat, she took a deep breath, clutched her oversized bag and jumped out of the car into almost freezing rain.

She was shivering and soaked before she could make it more than thirty feet down the road. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to envision a sunny beach to keep her teeth from their violent chattering. It didn't help. After what seemed like endless hours of walking, but were in fact fifteen or so minutes, Christine could make out a large building in the distance. A wave of relief washed through her when she got nearer. She stopped beside a plaque in front of the building, reading **"Ridgemont Sanitarium" **She'd made it. Looking at the structure for a moment, she winced slightly at how depressing it looked, especially on a day like this. Though to be honest, she didn't think it would improve in sunlight. Nothing could really improve a mental institution.

Catching sight of her appearance in the glass door, Christine silently hoped they wouldn't mistake her for a patient. She looked a mess; mud was splattered up to her knees like she'd been trudging through a muddy field instead of a roadside, she was dripping more water than a leaky faucet and her once tight professional bun was completely nonexistent. Giving a loud sneeze and pushing the hair out face, she jammed a shaking finger into the button next to the door. After a few moments a short and balding security guard sauntered to the portal and stopped in his tracks for a split second at the sight of her, before hurriedly unlocking and pushing the door open. **"Jesus missy! Yer soaked! Get in here before you freeze to yer bones out there!" **before she could move two steps on her own, the security guard grabbed her hand and pulled her in.

Stumbling for a second, Christine caught herself and sighed as the warmth from the heated building seeped into her chilled bones. Turning to the guard, she smiled shakily **"Thanks. My car died down the road and I had to walk a bit to get here." **pushing her hand out, she grinned** "I'm Christine Fields, one of the new intern nurses." **The guard eyed her for a moment before shaking her hand **"I'm Jed. I work mornin' shifts here at Ridgemont." **giving her a half smile, he continued **"Yer a bit late missy, the other two interns are already taking the tour of the facility with Doc. Wilde." **That didn't surprise her, the Doc.- her boss, didn't seem like an understanding or patient man from what she'd heard. What he was doing working in a mental institution, she had no clue. The guard cleared his throat **"I'm thinkin' you need a hot shower and a change of clothes. Mavis will have my hide in a splint if I let you drip all over this place. Follow me."**

Giving the guard a gratefully smile, she silently followed him through the halls wondering who Mavis was. All thoughts were dismissed as soon as they neared a door with "Locker Room" written on it. A shower was just what she needed right now. Christine was thankful she remembered to stuff her uniform into her bag before leaving her apartment this morning. Opening the door for her, the guard motioned for her to get in **"I'll be goin' on my rounds now and I'll send someone to escort you to the group later." **he pointed to the other side of the room before stepping out "**The showers are through that door." **Giving him a polite nod, Christine muttered a quiet **"Thanks Jed."** and waited for the door to close behind him before moving through the one he indicted.

Looking around the sterile white tiles, she was a bit unnerved by the eerie silence of the place, though on the other hand it was probably better then hearing people scream. Peeling off her sopping garments, she moved quickly and methodically through her shower, for some reason wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. After about twenty minutes, she found herself outside the locker room door again, wondering where her promised escort was. Being sometimes a bit impatient by nature, she shrugged and started walking down the halls; sure she'd bump into one of the nurses or doctors on the way.

While on her own private tour, she was more than a little surprised that most of the main doors to certain levels opened easily, she would have expected there to be more security then this. Reading the tags on the locked doors of different patients and perusing a few of the files that hung next to the secured metal plates. She paused a few feet from a door that read **"Michael Myers"** and almost dropped the folder she was holding in surprise -there was a key in the lock. Replacing the forgotten file, she carefully moved forward. Christine's heart pounded in her chest as she touched the cold handle. A part of her mind screamed at her not to open the door. God only knew what kind of unstable person was behind it! Doors after all, were locked for a reason, especially in a place like this.

Staring at the lock, she whispered **"If it's locked, you leave it alone Chris…" **Silently cursing her newfound curiosity, she slowly lowered the handle, tugged lightly and stopped breathing as the door opened a fraction. Christine hesitated, looking around as she debated whether to go in or not **"No one's here to see me. Just a peek can't hurt…right?" **taking a deep breath she slipped into the room.

There wasn't much light coming through the tiny barred window even though it was still morning. Looking around the small cell, she absently noted there was no furniture in it at all, only a bed in the middle of the room and an IV stand next to it. Keeping the door ajar in case she needed to escape quickly, Christine slowly stepped to the bed and the huge man lying there sleeping. The first thing she noticed was the fact that he was restrained, his hands and feet tied to the iron bed with leather and chain strips. She wondered why. Only now realizing she hadn't checked his file before entering, for all she knew he was dangerous or a psychopath. Her brows furrowed, she usually wasn't this impulsive or reckless, there was just… a pull. She almost snorted out loud at that thought.

She stood there in indecision for a few moments, not sure if she dared to step closer and see his face. Something in the back of her mind urged her to move forward, just two more steps…she chalked it up to stupidity. From where she stood she could see he was very tall, probably more than six feet, with light brown hair to his shoulders and the shadow of a beard. It was obvious he was well taken care of by the staff. She wasn't sure when she moved exactly, but she suddenly found herself giving a surprised gasp. The left side of his face was burned, from his cheek to his temple, half of his eyebrow missing. The flesh was slightly puckered and red in a few small patches but otherwise healed. He had a lot of scars all over, thin white slashes everywhere, even down his neck. She'd bet he had them all over his body too. But even with all those imperfections, she could tell he was handsome. She stared at high and defined cheekbones, a firm jaw line, broad brow, and a straight nose with only a slight bump from being broken. What really fascinated her though were his lips - thin, firm and tempting.

Christine's whole body jolted back at the last though. Was she nuts? She couldn't think like that of a patient! Turning to the door to leave, she made the mistake of looking back at him. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was leaning over him again. Reaching her hand out tentatively, Christine ran her fingers over his smooth cheek and through his hair, whispering **"Who are you Michael? Why do you make me feel so reckless?" **Why was he here? What had he done? Was he getting better? Her whole thought process died as her eyes moved to his –he was looking at her. Christine's whole body stilled, her hand still entwined in his hair, only a breath escaped her **"Michael?"**

Her head snapped to the door, she could hear faint voices. Removing her hand swiftly, she glanced at him and frowned in confusion. His eyes were closed and he was just as she first found him. Had she imagined it? Not having time to ponder this, she ran to the door and through it, locking it hurriedly behind herself before scrambling behind a corner. Her pulse was racing a mile a minute. She sagged against the wall, thankful they didn't catch her. They probably would have fired her on the spot for being here without an escort or authorization for that matter.

She could hear the voice of Doctor Wilde speaking to the interns **"Well now, we've come to the third level. Here we keep all patients under lock and key at all times. They are one of the most disturbed and dangerous." **Christine barely breathed as she listened in rapt attention. **"One of our more notorious patients is the mass murderer Michael Myers, also known as the Boogeyman." **Her heart almost stopped at that. She couldn't believe it, he looked so…normal. **"Michael has been here for five years now in a comatose state. The patient has no response from stimuli, therefore there is a very good chance he will never wake up." **Christine couldn't help the slight sadness that pulsed through her. But in the end it was for the best, right? Michael was what he was…** "Before being brought here, he was the patient of Doctor Samuel Loomis at Smith's Grove Sanitarium in Warren County. If you have any questions about Myers read Loomis's little fiction novel."** she didn't understand or like the snicker in his voice.

Hearing the shuffling of feet, Christine quickly moved from the wall and walked around the corner in their direction, plastering a relieved yet embarrassed look on her face, sighing **"Oh, I found you! Dr. Wilde, my name is Christine Fields. Please forgive my being late. I had some trouble getting here." **The relatively young doctor looked her over in what she could only describe as an insulting perusal before speaking **"I see. Well, Miss Fields, I expect this will not be a reoccurring theme with you?" **Christine glanced at her feet for a moment before meeting his smirking gaze **"Of course not Dr. Wilde. This was only a onetime thing sir." **Lowering her head, she moved to the back of the group of interns standing behind him, missing the flash of interest that ignited for a split second in the good doctors gaze before his usual know-it-all-and-bored-with-it look replaced it. As the group moved forward down the hall, Christine glanced back at a particular door with a sad smile. How she wished life could be different sometimes…


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

1989

Christine's fingers were starting to cramp from the heavy plastic bags she was carrying. Predictably, her car never worked when she needed it, so she had to walk to the grocery store and back to her new home. She had finally done it. She'd bought a small house, well, more of an ancient and junk filled hunting lodge located on the outskirts of a small town in Illinois. She'd travelled from place to place all her life, never really staying anywhere for any real amount of time. She'd dreamed of a place to call home, to settle down and sprout some roots. Sighing wistfully, imagining what she would do to make the old lodge a home, her home, she didn't notice the blue pick-up until it screeched to a halt a few feet away from her.

Pausing by the driver's side window, she smiled at the young man sticking his head out. **"Hi James." **The lanky blond almost tripped over his own feet as he rushed out of the truck, giving her a sheepish grin **"Hey Christine! Come on, I'll give you a ride!" **Before she could move a step to the back of the pick-up, to put her bags in, he grabbed them out of her hands and practically ran to the back, almost dislocating his hip as he bumped it. Christine, put a hand on her mouth to stop herself from laughing, yelling **"Slow down James!" **giving him a mock exasperated look, she chided **"I swear, one day you're going to break something - mainly yourself." **He moved with her to the passenger's side, opening the door and giving her a wink **"Nah, I'm indestructible." **She waited for him to climb into the driver's seat before snorting loudly **"Yeah, sure Superman…" **opening her mouth to continue, she forgot what she was about to say. A strange sensation prickled the back of her neck. Turning her head to look out the window, she thought she'd caught a glimpse of someone by a house. _That was weird, I could have sworn… _She almost jumped as James spoke **"Did you hear me?" **snapping her head back to him, she blushed, embarrassed **"Oh, sorry. Guess I zoned out for a moment there. You were saying?" **He grinned at her in amusement and started driving **"I was wondering if you needed any help settling in at the old lodge?" **Christine waved her hand; an excited smile graced her features **"Nope, almost done! After a week of cleaning and unpacking, I only have a couple of boxes left. The utilities were reconnected yesterday, so thankfully, I now have running water and electricity... anything else I can work out as I go." **

She watched him from the corner of her eyes as he took her hand and squeezed it gently, sneaking glances at her **"If you need anything Christine, you call me. I do mean anything. I don't much like it… you staying there alone, I mean. It's kind of isolated and too close to the woods for my peace of mind." **Removing her hand slowly, she gave him a stubborn look **"I told you before James, I like it there and I'll be fine. You really have nothing to worry about.**" She didn't miss his quiet sigh, or the way his shoulders slumped slightly as he spoke **"Okay, okay. But I still don't get why you didn't choose a house or apartment closer to… I mean in town." **Christine suspected he meant to say closer to him. He liked her, she knew. He'd been dropping hints since the first time she came to Haddonfield and literally bumped into him at the local hardware store. She looked him over as she spoke **"I didn't have the money for a house there, besides they're too big and I'm only one person. And to be honest I've had enough of apartments to last me a lifetime. I wanted my own space, a little privacy, and the lodge is perfect for that." **

James Barr was a fine man. One year older then her at twenty six, he was responsible, dependable, completely open and trustworthy - all rare and amazing qualities. She had to admit he was attractive too with his short blond hair, warm brown eyes and tall, lean build. Christine couldn't think of a good reason why she didn't just ask him out. He was everything a man should be. So why didn't he make her heart race, her palms sweat and stomach churn with butterflies? Why didn't thoughts of him invade lonely nights or the hours in passing days? Why didn't he make her...feel?

Her self-questioning was interrupted when they stopped in her driveway. Stepping out of the truck, she fished the keys out of her pocket and opened the door wide for him. It didn't take long for James to rush in behind her, bags in tow. He gave a low whistle as he placed her things on the kitchen counter **"Wow, the place looks amazing!"** Nodding, Christine smiled happily **"Yeah, a lot better than it did when I first got here." **When she'd opened the door to her new home for the first time last week, she'd almost thought it wasn't worth it. It was in essence a true hunter's haven. It took her days to get rid of all the trophies, old furniture and even older dust. Now, the solid hardwood floors were gleaming. The lodge was pretty much an open space, a large room that housed the kitchen with a small dining table, and a couch flanked by two recliners in front of a gorgeous stone fireplace. She had a bedroom off to one side of the main entrance and a small bathroom on the other. The place was airy with three large windows and a sliding door to a small deck in the back – it definitely suited her.

James leaned on the counter and quirked an eyebrow, drawling **"I thought all the ladies liked stuffed dear and fish on the wall? Not to mention antlers displaying cobwebs over windows?" **she wrinkled her nose at him **"Funny. Or it would be if I still didn't feel like I have spiders crawling in my hair." **She had to consciously stop herself from taking a step back as he moved to stand in front of her. His hand slowly reached out and tucked a few strands of auburn hair behind her ear. The intense look in his eyes spoke volumes more than his whispered words **"There's nothing in your hair Christine. It's beautiful."** Blushing, she looked everywhere but at him **"Uhh, thanks." **James tilted her chin up so she'd look up **"Come have a drink with me tonight? We could watch a movie at my place since you don't have a TV yet." **Christine squirmed a little, averting her eyes **"I can't. I still have a lot to do and it's already getting late…**" She didn't look up to see it; she could practically _feel _his disappointment. She wanted to kick herself – hard. _What the hell is wrong with me? I should be all over him!_ Tipping her head back, she was interrupted, or rather saved, from speaking by ringing on a small table by the front door. Muttering a quiet **"Excuse me." **she stopped in her tracks a moment before reaching it. Taking a deep breath, Christine turned to James **"About that drink…would you take a rain check for sometime…umm…next week?" **The hope that lit his eyes made her smile and cringe at the same time. She desperately hoped it was the right thing to do. She certainly didn't want to hurt him.

Another ring made her whip around and grab the receiver **"Hello?" **putting a hand on the mouthpiece, she turned her head to James and found him grinning and mouthing "catch 'ya later" as he left. She waited for the door to close behind him to lock it before raising the handle to her ear again **"Hello?" **Her nape prickled, and Christine almost dropped the phone – there was deep even breathing on the line. Frowning at the table top, she demanded **"Who is this?" **The breathing continued. Irritation replaced her first flash of fear. It was probably some kid making an obscene phone call thinking it was hilarious. She ground her teeth **"This is the fifth time in two days. If you have nothing to say STOP CALLING!" **she disconnected with a violent slam. She barely took three steps away from the phone when it rang again. Looking at it, she debated whether or not to just let it ring.

Shaking her head with a sigh, she snatched up the receiver, snapping **"Look you little ass, if you don't stop calling me, I'm calling the poli-" **her mouth snapped shut so hard at the screech into her ear she thought her jaw would crack from the pressure **"Christine Emma Fields have you lost your mind? That is no way to talk to your mother!" **Wincing, Christine sputtered **"Mom! So nice of you to call…uhh sorry about that…some kids were just making a crank call…" **Rattling her mind for a topic to distract her parent, she rushed **"How's Italy? How's…err…Gerry?" **the name spoken in a hopeful pitch. Her mother sighed **"Dennis, dear. Gerry was after Tom and before Leopold. Do try to keep track of your stepfathers Christine." **_Right Dennis, the Irish banker… or was he the British Lord? The Swedish artist? No, no the artist was Bjürn something…_ She ran a tired hand through her hair, for the life of her she couldn't remember who was what. Her mother interrupted with a laugh **"Italy is wonderful as always. I'm staying at Dennis's Tuscan villa for the remainder of the year. We're thinking of going to Germany after the holidays…" **Christine mumbled **"That's nice mom." **followed by other nonsensical phrases and noises as her mother prattled on about this place or that, and this husband or the other. Her gaze wandered to the closest window and her mind with it. _Maybe I should buy some curtains? I definitely need to paint the frames and sill, they're really chipped. Blue is a nice color…or a sunny yellow to add some cheerfulness to the dull brown of the wooden structure…_

Christine was pulled out of her musings by her mother's impatient tone - which only meant one thing really. Before this call was over she would find herself wishing the phone cord was longer and that she hadn't removed all the antlers from the walls since she didn't have any convenient beams sticking out. **"Christine you are twenty five already. You need to start thinking of the future. What happened to that Doctor you mentioned a while ago? He sounded delightful! Are you two dating? I bet he's there with you! Has he proposed? Are you married and didn't tell me?"** _Oh dear lord, that lecherous pig? _She got fired from Ridgemont because of him! Was her mother high on something? She looked longingly at the disconnect button -_There's never a power outage when you need one._ Shaking her head, her voice turned whiny before she could stop herself **"Mom, pleeease. If you remember I went out with him **_**once**_**. I told you three years ago **_**and**_** in every phone call since, that he is not now, nor will he ever be someone I could get involved with. Period." **Christine didn't dare tell her about James, she would never hear the end of it. She'd definitely never make that error in judgment again. Her mother chirped **"But darling, you need someone to take care of you! Besides that, you also need a man for some satisfying sexual intercourse. I'm not getting any younger you know. Oh that reminds me, I've recently heard that certain positions during the act can bene-" **

Wrenching the phone handle from her ear, Christine looked at it like it just grew hairy spider legs and was about to go for her jugular. _Hell no! They were not going there!_ Closing her eyes, she took a few calming breaths. She really needed to take a soothing bath after this, her head was starting to throb **"Mom I love you, I do. And I promise I'll tell you as soon as I have someone special okay?" **She heard a gulp and could actually envision her mother throwing back a vodka martini. A pouting tone reached her **"Ooh alright, but don't you dare think we won't continue this Christine.**"Her mother gave an exasperated sigh before gentling her tone** "I love you too dear and you know I only want the best for you. I'll talk to you again in a few weeks." **After they said their goodbyes, Christine slumped against the front door. Her mother could be exhausting. _Dang it, I'm in my twenties not my late thirties to have to worry about having kids! _Pushing that thought determinately from her mind and herself away from the main door, she shuffled to the bathroom for aspirin.

Christine didn't notice a flash of silver through the sliding glass doors, and as the bathroom door closed, the back door slid open.

Steam billowed into to the main room when she walked out of the bathroom an hour later dressed in a pair of comfy navy blue sweats. Drying her hair with a towel, she absently flipped the light off in the bathroom, noticing after a few steps that she was in complete darkness except for a few slivers of moonlight from the windows. Her brows furrowed and she muttered **"I could have sworn I felt a light on in here…" **Pulling the towel off her head and pushing damp hair out of her face, she heard it then – quiet muffled breathing. Her whole body froze in horror and a gasp lodged in her throat. It didn't take her long to locate where the sound was coming from. Christine could make out a large shadowy figure a few feet in front of her and to her left, next to the couch. She didn't know if it was deliberate or not, but the shadow made a small sudden movement, making Christine highly aware of a very big and very sharp knife.

Instead of wondering who he was, why he was there or how he got in, only one thought stood out in her frazzled mind. _Oh God, I don't want to die like this._ James's words about her being isolated and alone flitted through her head and her smart-aleck reply about being perfectly fine mocked her a few feet away with a butcher knife. Her legs shook. It was almost enough to make a hysterical bubble of laughter constrict her cotton dry throat. Self preservation kicked in._ I need to get out…need to escape… _Christine's eyes darted all around, looking for something, anything that could help her. The door behind her was locked and the only means of escape was through the partly open sliding door. The literally big problem was, she would have to get past the figure without being killed. Her fingers flexed on the towel she was clutching in a death grip. She could feel his eyes watching her. It was almost physical and it made goose bumps rise on her flesh. Gathering her scattered courage she threw the towel, hopefully at his face, and bolted for freedom. Christine screamed **"NOOO!" **as a vice like grip clamped around her lower arm making her jerk back. Before she knew what she was doing, her body hunkered, her left shoulder pitched forward and her bare feet pounded on wood in seemingly one smooth motion. She barreled into the figure and then dropped painfully to the floor when his grip loosened. Christine didn't register the surprised grunt, clatter of metal on wood or the loud thud that came from the other side of the couch. Scrambling back clumsily, she regained her footing as fast as humanly possible and dashed through the sliding door, blindly running for the woods and for her life in terror.

Braches clawed her face, almost like they wanted to stop her and debris on the forest floor cut into her feet. Pain was staring to radiate through her. Ignoring it, she pushed on. After a few minutes Christine's sides hurt too much and she could barely breathe the cool air. Throwing herself behind a thick tree, she tried making herself invisible by tucking her hands and feet into her sweats, pulling her knees up to her chest and keeping her head down. _Please don't let him find me please, oh please don't let him find me please…_ Christine chanted in her head, trying to stop her chest from heaving and her body from its violent shaking. Her pounding heart almost stopped dead – a twig snapped near her. Carefully easing herself up, she inched her head to the side, squinting through the darkness. When she saw him, she covered her mouth with a hand, to prevent a frightened whimper from escaping her. _He's so close! Oh god, what do I do? What? _His back was turned to her, the knife clutched in his right hand, and he was methodicaly looking around. She could make out black hair and a dark jumpsuit. Hearing him move a bit closer toward the tree she was hiding behind, Christine knew she would have to make a fun for it. It was too risky to keep her position.

Fisting her hands until her fingers hurt more than her feet, she took silent deep breaths, waiting with tense muscles. _You can do this. You have to. 3.2.1._ _Now! _She ran as hard and as fast as she could. Somehow knowing in the back of her mind that he was in pursuit, but didn't dare look over her shoulder to see it. After what felt like miles, she burst through a dense part of bushes and almost ran straight down a very steep incline, catching herself on a small wispy tree at the last possible moment. Huge puffs of air escaped Christine's strained lungs as her panicked eyes looked for a way down. _Damn it to hell, I can't see anything!_ She couldn't make out where the incline ended. The now already familiar sensation of small hairs rising in warning made her jerk around and take a careless step back in shock. He was barely a few feet away, the moonlight now enough for her to make out a strangely familiar mask. Where had she seen it before? Distant memories from six years ago assaulted her, a handsome man lying motionless in a bed - a man with a horrific past. She whispered his name with wide frightened eyes **"Michael?" **glancing from the masks emotionless gaze to the knife by his side and back again; she took another shaky step back, and felt her heel connect with nothing but air.

Prepared for the beating her body would sustain from such a fall, with tightly closed eyes. They snapped open to meet a masks empty stare when her backward plummet stopped with a sudden jolt before it could even begin. He was holding her by the front of her top with one hand, keeping her body precariously tilted over the edge. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Christine inanely wondered why, whispering **"M-Michael, I'm scared. Please…" **Unsure if she was more afraid of him or the fall. Unsure if she was pleading with him to pull her up or just let her go.

She would never know if he would have saved her or doomed her though. Before Christine could reach her shaking hand out to him and before he could decide her fate. Christine's old worn out sweatshirt ripped…


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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Sore. Achingly sore. Those two words perfectly fit the description of the way she was feeling, like she'd been through the spin cycle of a dryer. Even her hair hurt. A long, low rumble left her sandy throat **"Ohhh, what the hell happened…?" **When no one answered her whispered words, other senses kicked in. Christine smelled stale air and what could only be described as something found in a old gym bag left under the sun too long.

She was on a bed, at least it felt like a bed, and it was comfortable enough so that her muddled brain didn't want to completely wake up, yet. Wisps of memories made her brows draw into a frown. It was a dream, right? She didn't hear anything other than a low breathing sound and running water from somewhere.

He had watched her from his seat across the room since yesterday, from the moment he had brought her home. Michael had walked down that incline to her motionless body, his only thought to plunge his knife into her abdomen and rip her open, to feel her last breath, the warmth leave her, feel her cooling blood soak his clothing… He had been prepared. So _ready. _The blade poised a few inches above her, and then…nothing… Her unfocused eyes opened for a moment, she reached for _him, _and just…fainted. Michael had no idea why she'd done that, it had never happened before. Ever. He found that he _couldn't_ do it then, because…well…hell if he knew.

_Low breathing?_ She sat up so fast her head spun. Christine pressed her fingers to her eyes and moaned miserably. It took a few long minutes for the world to stop tilting wildly on its axis. A rustling of fabric and the now already _very _familiar breathing pattern made her hands drop and face lift achingly slow. She had a horrifying suspicion of what, or rather who, she would see. And she was right. It took every ounce of willpower Christine possessed not to scream her head off, bolt from her position on the mattress or start wailing huddled in the fetal position. Though the need to do so was almost overwhelming when _he_ stood up and stepped two paces in her direction, knife at the ready, to slash her throat if she as much as blinked funny.

The lights in the small brick room were enough for her to see his eyes, not just the masks empty gaze, and to be honest, she didn't really think there was much of a difference. Michaels almost midnight black, and oddly enough, intelligent looking eyes were the most emotionless she had ever seen in her life. They pinned her down with an unmoving stare and yet seemed to be aware of her every twitch. It was unnerving, the way he didn't even blink, and stood as if carved from immovable granite.

Carefully removing the tattered, moth eaten old blanket from her legs, Christine very slowly placed her feet on solid ground. Keeping constant eye contact with him, she kept her hands visible as she stood, and immediately pitched forward with a painful yelp. Before she could bat an eye, she had her back pressed into the floor with a knife at her throat and a very large terrifying man looming over her. She froze, barely breathing.

Michael for his part, found himself conflicted for the second time in his life, both instances barely forty-eight hours apart. He wanted to kill her. It would be so easy, so effortless, so beautifully quick, and yet… He stared at her wide gray eyes, could feel her racing heart and practically smell the fear emanating from her tense body. Yes, so _easy_. His hand tightened on the knife, nicking her fragile white throat. For a moment he fixated on the drop of blood making its way over her skin. A sharply indrawn breath made his eyes move back to hers. Her tongue snaked out to wet dry lips that whispered **"I'm t-t-thirsty. Please, c-can…can I have s-some water." **His head tilted. Her words were the last thing he expected. She was supposed to be fighting him, screaming and trying everything imaginable to get away. So _why_, wasn't she? Damn it, he didn't understand it. Or her.

She could have wept from relief as the knife slowly moved away from her, followed by his body. A tiny part of her protested the loss of his warm weight. She savagely buried that ludicrous though, focusing instead on getting back on the dilapidated bed. Her right ankle was throbbing like a sore tooth, she also felt cold. Probing her limb with deft fingers, a relieved sighed escaped her. _Finally, a silver lining. Thank god, it's not broken._ Christine wasn't an expert, but she'd seen and helped treat quite a few sprained, broken and dislocated limbs in her short career, enough to know the differences between injuries. She glanced over her scratches, bruises and deeper cuts, making a mental note of what was where and what would be need to treat the worst of them, all the while intensely aware of _him_ standing there the whole time.

Keeping her head bowed, she murmured quietly **"Do you have anything I could use for my injuries, some gauze and bandages? Peroxide maybe, or some strong liquor?"** Silence. Looking up hesitantly, Christine failed to suppress the wisp of fear that snaked up her spine as her nervous gaze met his steady one, almost jumping a foot when his knife slashed through the air. Tracing the blades razor length with wide weary eyes, it dawned on her after a suspended breath - he was pointing at something. She stared at a beat up chest of drawers at the head of the bed.

A little apprehensive, Christine scooted over to it, cringing with a hiss every time her sprained ankle jostled at the small movement. The first drawer overflowed with an assortment of candy, beef jerky, bottled drinks and a heap of other junk food. _At least I won't starve. _She took out a bottle of water, then moved on to the next drawer after quenching her thirst. Her brows rose to her hairline, this one was full of knives, all of them different shapes and sizes. She pushed the panel closed in a hurry. _I really don't need to give him any ideas. _Pulling the last drawer open, Christine smiled slightly, relieved at the sight of wrapped gauze, bandages, thin medical scissors, antiseptic and assortment of pill bottles. Taking out what she needed, she didn't touch the pills, wondering where he got them, deciding after a split second that she really didn't want to know. She ignored him while she worked, or at least tried to. It was hard to ignore a deadly shadow hovering over you.

Michael could see she kept sneaking discreet glances in his direction every few moments. To make sure he hadn't moved perhaps? What would she do it he did? He was almost tempted to fund out, he liked the way her eyes widened and filled with primal fear. His own narrowed a fraction as she removed her torn sweatshirt, revealing a thin white sleeveless top covered in red smudges here and there, trying unsuccessfully to tend her shoulders. She was useless, fragile and a hindrance. His fingers tightened.

Christine threw the piece of gauze on the bed in disgust. _Great. Wonderful. Perfect. I can't reach it. _She was inclined to leave it alone. _But what if it got infected? Damn._ Resigned, she turned on the bed, presenting her back to her captor, sighing **"Would you…?" **faltering, she held up a piece of gauze covered in a tiny amount of antiseptic in one hand and a bandage in the other. Waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and about to turn her head to look over her shoulder… Christine flinched as he took the items, roughly moving through the motions of cleaning and covering the larger cuts. Her right shoulder was throbbing. By the time he was done, she was sweating and exhausted. Sleep sounded like a very good idea.

Lying down, she turned away from him and closed her eyes, remembering bits and pieces from what she'd heard about him years ago. His behavior screamed controlling, antisocial and introverted. The words psychopath, soulless devil and mass murderer stood out. Christine knew he didn't speak, hadn't in fact spoken in twenty six years. Knew he'd killed more people then she cared to speculate about. What she didn't know however, was why he didn't just kill her? No mistake, she was happy about it, but it still didn't make a lick of sense. And frankly, it scared her to death too. What could he possibly want with her? Christine didn't delude herself, she wasn't special and she knew without a shred of doubt that he didn't care a fig about her. So what happened that stopped him?

Hours later, erratic breathing and occasional rearranging on the bed told him she was for some reason uncomfortable. He had moved from his position beside the bed, to sit in his customary corner, the ever present blade within close reach. Michael didn't trust her not to try something. Though somehow, a part of him knew she would be patient, would bide her time until her body healed enough before forming and executing a plan of escape. He'd learned that much about her over his week-long observations. He was looking forward to it. Perhaps then she'd give him reason enough… His head tilted. She'd turned to him and was mumbling incoherently.

In a moment of lucidity, Christine's eyes opened and words tumbled quietly from her mouth **"I… Michael. Hot. Too hot. You…cool…fever." **She barely felt it when he lifted her up, blinking dazedly at the spinning ceiling. A glint of silver flashed above her, but she couldn't seem to find a reason to care. Let him kill her if he wished. She just hoped she'd leave a huge mess for him to clean up. A tearing sound made her head loll in the crook of his strong arm. Why was he cutting her clothes off? Christine got her answer when a splash of cool water touched her heated skin, and screamed from the shock of it. The fact that she was naked from the waist up didn't even register as important in her mind at the moment.

He held her firmly as she thrashed around kicking and screaming. Ignoring it, Michael kept pouring water over her flushed body. He didn't know why he was doing this. Why it mattered that she lived. It just did. For now. It took a while for her to finally stop tossing around. His whole body stilled and his eyes snapped forward. She was clutching his jumpsuit collar, pressing her face into his neck, whispering **"I-I-I don't understand…." **His grip tightened. Her fisted fingers relaxed, then moved up to his shoulder slowly, flexing feebly on the side of his neck. It seemed she didn't have the strength to injure him properly. He barely noticed his hands clenching as she pressed closer to him, mumbling **"Michael. My Michael." **He tolerated her fleeting touches with a confused curiosity. It was strange and odd. It ended as soon as her fingers ghosted over the cheek of his mask.

Before she could comprehend what she'd been doing, Christine found herself face down on the cold floor. Relaxing against it, a sigh raised dust in front of her face. She barely noticed, the concrete was so blessedly cool. She stiffened as her tired bleary gaze focused on a small skull with empty eye sockets and elongated front teeth, its tiny bones scattered haphazardly all around. Why hadn't she noticed them before? Its gruesome visage was like a sobering slap in the face. It mocked her. Foremost it mocked that small moment of piece and comfort she'd felt in his arms. A modicum of sense returned, and with it anger sparked in her muddled brain.

She fought him when he grabbed her arms and hauled her up **"Let me go! Stop it! Let me go Michael!" **Managing to get one of her arms free, she was quickly spun around and crushed against his chest. Christine ignored his painful grip on her arms and pushed against him frantically, pounding with tight fists, shouting **"WHY? Damn you! Why did you have to bring me here? I want to go home!" **She might as well have been pounding on the brick walls for all the affect it had.

His patience gone, Michael threw her on the bed and pinned her down roughly. Straining against him, she glared up at his blurry mask **"I'm not staying here Michael! The first chance I see, I'm getting out of here! Do you hear me? You can't keep me like this forever!" **Breathing hard, and with most of her energy used up from the struggle, fatigue made her sag into the mattress. No matter what, Christine still kept her unfocused glare clashed with his. It drove her mad that he was so calm and silent, not even a blink to know what he was thinking.

What infuriated even more though was her body's traitorous response to him. Closing her eyes tightly, she turned her head away from his cold stare. A different kind of warmth was spreading inside her, the longer Christine felt his firm thighs on either side of her own, his hands pressing hers into the bed with a painfully strong grip above her head. His musky scent filled her senses and cruelly tested her already strained resolve to keep her distance. _I can't let this happen…even though he makes me...oh god no…I can't…but I want to…_ logic warred with emotion.

Christine gasped as the desire to touch him slammed through her like electricity, when he shifted his weight almost imperceptibly. If she weren't so attuned to his every breath, she would have missed it. Looking up at him through her lashes, her back arched of its own volition at the unwavering black gaze emotionlessly roving her exposed chest. Christine silently cursed him, and her own weakness.

He noticed the change. Instinctively, his grip tightened on her wrists and his hips pressed firmly into her own. It made his stomach clench and sent a jolt of awareness through him that Michael didn't want to understand. He quickly drew away from her with narrowed eyes, waiting to see what she would do. He didn't know why he became…displeased, when she turned on her side and drew the blanket over her head. Turning away, the only indications of his inner turmoil were the tightly fisted hands by his sides. Damn her. She was becoming more dangerous by the moment…


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**

* * *

**

It was a few days later, she wasn't sure how many exactly – three or four perhaps? That she felt good enough to start putting steady weight on her injured leg. The need for physical activity was paramount for it to heal properly. It hurt like hell.

Christine had started to notice a pattern in Michael's activities. She suspected it was a remnant from his time in the sanatorium. Order and schedules had been the norm since he was six years old, he probably didn't know how to function without some semblance of it, now that he was free. From what she'd heard about him, it was noticeable if one listened carefully enough. Even his killing held a faint pattern. He would stalk, get familiar with his chosen target, eliminate any possible disruptive forces and all the while toy with his "prey". Some people had apparently died in quite imaginative ways.

So, she had noticed things, for instance, he would leave for short periods three times a day. Christine guessed it was for meals and other personal needs. He would lock her into, what she realized after a while, was an old and probably long abandoned small maintenance room somewhere in the sewers, under what she hoped was still Haddonfield. She had woken up alone the first time it happened and intended to use his absence to escape. Hobbling to the rusted metal gate standing between her and freedom, she shook it and pounded on it until her whole body hurt from exhaustion. Needless to say, it wouldn't budge without a key.

The day after her fever broke, Christine had discovered a tiny alcove in the room that served as toilet…it was crude, only a drain hole really, but it served her purpose and she took advantage of it in those short private opportunities. She relished those moments alone, able to gather her confusing thoughts into some semblance of normality. She would have to find a way to escape soon…or die trying.

What she thought might be evenings, though couldn't be sure, he would go somewhere for hours and return with either food and water or covered in new layers of blood. Once he'd come back with all three and a butchers bloody cleaver to boot. Christine had hurriedly turned away from him as soon as she saw him that time. She couldn't bear to look at him, imagining what he'd done, who he had killed and for what? A candy bar, a can of soda? What? She didn't want to think like that, but…sometimes it just invaded her thoughts and she didn't know what to do to stop it.

She also didn't exactly know when or where he slept, if he even did, it was probably as soon as he was sure she was out soundly. He was one giant, deadly enigma wrapped in questions no one would ever get the answers to, probably not even her. From their last "encounter" Michael hadn't touched her again, unless it was strictly necessary and even those instances were brief. For which she was grateful.

Christine wasn't certain her private struggle could handle any more of his physical contact, no matter how unintentional or innocent it was. The more time she spent with him, the more her body and a small shadowy part of her mind, she would never admit to in the light of day, whispered _just one more…no one will know…just touch him…feel him…burn for him. _It was getting harder and harder to ignore.

He watched her from outside the small room, hidden in shadows, Michael could observe without her being aware of his presence. His head tilted every time she glanced in his general direction for a moment with a slight frown on her features. He knew she couldn't see him, and because of that, it made her behavior all the more puzzling. She did seem more relaxed without him there though, more willing to move around, eat and drink. Michael could almost see the wheels turning in her head. In the past few days she'd explored every nook and cranny of the confined space, he was sure, looking for a means of escape. He'd made certain she'd find nothing to aide her.

He admitted to himself that he was fascinated by her, and realized that this _fascination_ was the only reason she was still alive. What intrigued Michael was her dual response to him. One moment she would quake in terror, avoid his gaze or even try to fight him, and then in other moments, she would stare at him, only glancing away briefly, she would easily submit to his will, bend her shape to his. Those last instances were the ones he didn't understand. The way her eyes would turn dark and she would reach her hands out to him.

Christine's head shot up as she heard the rusted hinges proclaim that the door was opening. She didn't have to turn to see who was entering, but did so anyway. The small space seemed to shrink even further when he stepped in. Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic. Looking him over, a sigh escaped her and her shoulders sagged in relief, he wasn't covered in fresh blood. Her mind reasoned that that didn't mean anything; he could have killed a dozen people without the gruesome evidence showing on his clothing. Christine decided she preferred the comfort of illusion against stark reality in this case, at least for now. Scooting to the head of the bed and propping her back against it, she faced him and drummed her fingers on her knees, trying to figure out what to say to him.

What could she say anyway? _"Hi sweetie, how was your day? Kill anyone interesting recently?" _She shook her head in disgust _"Yeah, that would go over well. Like he needs my encouragement for that." _God, the silence here was almost enough to drive a person up the wall. She was tired of it. Looking at him as he moved to his usual seat, she settled on the most generic topic that she could find **"So, ummm…how's the weather out there? **Christine didn't pretend to expect an answer, so she just smiled slightly and prattled on as he stared at her. **"I love thunder storms. I know some people are afraid of them, the lightning and booming noise…" **She chuckled and whispered **"Don't tell anyone, but it makes me jump too." **Sighing wistfully, she glanced at the door and continued **"I like them because after they're over…well, there's just this feeling of peace… freshness in the air, like the storm washed away everything and the only thing left is a new day…" **

Michael watched her face change as she spoke. He hadn't seen her so calm in his presence before, it made him wonder what her reaction would be if he decided to touch her right now. He moved to stand next to the foot of the bed. His head tilted as she smiled despite the flash of fear, which only showed in the slight widening of her eyes and flexing of her fingers on the blanket covering her chest when she'd glanced at the knife by his side. Bending forward, his free hand shot out and grabbed her injured leg just above the ankle.

She barely had time to gasp in surprise as he pulled her toward him across the mattress. A bare second later, Christine felt his knees press apart her thighs and his hands dip the mattress on either side of her head. If it weren't for the fact that they were both very much clothed and covered, she would have…done what exactly? Screaming wouldn't help her and neither would fighting, he had almost 200 pounds over her own 140. Looking up at the mask, Christine could make out his eyes, this close they seemed almost _blue_. It struck her how massive he really was. How he easily overpowered her senses in this position, making all her focus center solely on him. _"Damn it to hell, he probably has no idea what he's doing to me!"_ Swallowing past her suddenly dry throat, she whispered **"Michael please… why are you doing **_**this**_**?"**

He was wondering the same thing. Why did he keep experiencing this _need_ to touch her, to feel her? She was nothing, only a damned distraction…a burden and a nuisance. His head tilted. She had closed her eyes and tears were making moist paths down the sides of her face. Michael knew he hadn't hurt her yet. Was she finally afraid then? His hand moved to the side of her face. He almost flinched as she turned her face to it, gently rubbing her cheek against his thumb. He could feel her whispers on his skin **"You're slowly torturing me Michael and the saddest thing about it… is that you don't even know how you're doing it."**

Her eyes snapped open as his hand twisted painfully in the hair at the back of her head. She ignored it, instead focusing on his eyes. They were still as empty and emotionless as ever. Something in her snapped, and before she even gave a thought to what she was doing, Christine grabbed his shoulders, tightened her legs on either side of his and arched her back, giving a low moan **"Do you know what this is Michael? This need I feel for you?" **She felt his whole body practically turn to stone. Christine didn't give a damn if he pulled half her hair out, she wasn't backing down. Using all her strength to hook an arm around his neck, she pulled herself up, letting the blanket slip to her waist. Pressing her body against his, her cheek to the masks, she whispered close to his ear **"Do you feel it too Michael? Does your stomach clench in anticipation, like mine?"**

Christine went right with him as he abruptly straightened to his knees. Tightening her grip, she swallowed a pained cry when he jerked her head back roughly. It made fresh tears sting her eyes. Caressing one of her hands down his arm slowly, she moved it to her bare back, moaning **"Touch me…" **Christine failed to suppress a shiver as the cold flat metal of his butcher knife pressed into the small of her back. Was it her imagination or had his breathing become more…shallow? Maybe, just maybe he wasn't as indifferent as she'd thought.

He was struggling. Michael's judgment was clouded by his physical response to her. He didn't like it and yet found himself reluctant to push her away. His hands fisted tightly for a moment when she rocked her hips against his. He couldn't help but follow the small movement her tongue made with his eyes as she licked her lips **"Does your blood pulse with a mix of lust and desire Michael? Do you want me, as much as I want you?" **His eyes narrowed at her words. So, this was it? Lust? He'd seen enough through windows and doorways to know what it meant. Though, this was the first time he was experiencing it because of someone. Michael wasn't completely ignorant of his body's basic needs. If this was what he had to do, to get her out of his head, then so be it. Releasing her hair he grabbed her arms and shoved her off of him.

She barely bounced twice on the bed before Christine felt his callused hands on the waistband of her torn sweatpants. Bolting upright, she frantically tried to still his hands **"Wait, Michael. Slow down!" **Ignoring her, he caught both her hands in one of his and firmly pinned them over her head. With his other, he used the knife to cut off the rest of her clothing. Naked and squirming, Christine tried to reason with him **"Please Michael not like this! I need you to- Oh!" **Her whole body stilled as he tugged the zipper of his mechanics jumpsuit down to his waist, revealing his scarred and burnt chest in the process. _"Dear lord! What _had_ they done to him?" _No one deserved to suffer such extensive injuries in one single lifetime. She stared at what was left of bullet holes, burns, slashes, stabs,… you name it, she'd bet he had it somewhere. Christine was shocked. How he could have survived most of them, she couldn't even begin to fathom.

She was brought back to the moment at hand when he forcefully spread her thighs apart with his knee and moved over her. Christine's whole body tensed involuntarily **"Wait! Please! I'm not rea-aaaahh!" **Her pain filled scream cruelly echoed off the walls. She didn't register the quiet grunting noises he made at the back of his throat. Every powerful thrust hurt as much as the first one. Crying, she prayed it would be over soon. **"P-p-pleaseee stop!" **Christine knew she should relax, that it would be better if she did, but her muscles didn't seem to want to obey. Forcing her eyes open she begged **"Please Michael. You're hurting me. Stop, please, stop…"**

It wasn't anything she'd said that made him halt his movements. It was the look in her eyes. Michael couldn't explain or interpret it, but it was _wrong_. He couldn't say how he knew that, it was simply not what he wanted from her. He stared with narrowed eyes into the wall at the head of the bed. A cold sensation he was familiar with and understood started to make its way through him. Gripping the knife he moved.

Relief tinged with surprise made Christine shake as he swiftly withdrew from her. Lying there and breathing hard, she quickly pulled her legs under her and covered her breasts. Staring at him, wiping the tears from her eyes, a large part of her wanted to lash out, but _something_ held her back. Momentarily closing her eyes, Christine's conscience wouldn't allow her to solely blame him for what happened. She was the one who pushed him, recklessly started this. And in all honesty she couldn't blame him for reacting with base male instincts. He was after all, who he was. Why did she keep losing focus on that point? Was she slowly going mad?

The jagged sound of a zipper moving, made her eyes snap up to his. Knowing he was about to leave, Christine scrambled off the bed, again silently cursing her impulsiveness **"Michael I…I don't want you to leave like this… We can…"** the words trailed of as she tentatively reached a hand out, smiling shakily when he moved a step closer. The smile disappeared when he pushed her away, slashing through the air with the silver blade. A hiss escaped Christine and she gripped her palm tightly. He cut her! She stared incredulously at the small slash across her right palm. Letting herself drop to the cold floor, she absently reached for one of the drawers. Tugging out a bandage, she berated herself _"Hell Christine! You know better! What the fuck is wrong with you? Where's your common sense!" _

Jumping a little as the gate closed with a loud slam behind him, Christine turned to glare at it, listening to his echoing steps retreating farther and farther away. Turning her attention to her palm with a sad sigh, her head snapped up and eyes widened when a faint rusted squeak reached her ears. **"Oh my god!" **The gate! Grabbing the blanket to cover herself, Christine clambered to her feet and moved as quickly as her slight limp would allow. Touching the cold rusted metal, she took a deep breath **"This is it. This is my chance. I have to take it." ** She pushed it open far enough to slip through.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

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Michael was furious – he had never before _felt_ anything so powerfully in his life.

He just wasn't sure if it was more to do with _her_ or himself. Stalking through the maze of underground passages he found himself stopping just two bends away from where he'd left her. He was not running away. How the hell had it come to this? Damn it! Michael worked to calm his harsh breathing. He did not run. He was in control. She was nothing. She didn't matter.

Michael had made it full circle through the tunnels surrounding the small maintenance room he called home before he realized where he was going. Now he stood there, two easily navigated corners away from the source of his newfound agitation. Michael had no ready explanation for his behavior, he just knew it was bizarre, leaving him unsettled because he didn't understand what was happening, and that seemed to fuel his mounting animosity.

Anger - Michael understood, though rarely felt, coldness - he was familiar with, and emptiness was an old and welcome friend. Unbidden, the image of gray eyes entered his mind, making him remember the defeated and shocked look on her face just before he'd left. His fists clenched in fury. Why was this happening? What did it mean? Hell. He didn't understand it or her or anything right now.

He remembered her touch, the feeling of liquid heat under his fingers. She was soft and supple and more responsive then he knew what to do with. Her whispered words meant nothing to him, but the way she'd whispered them… the breathless sounds she'd made… it made the blood under his skin burn in some strange way. In a way he'd _never_ experienced before. Michael heard a rasping sound echo and was shocked to realize it came from him. It made no sense! He wasn't even sure he'd liked it, but it had felt…indescribable.

Then, the word "lust" had slipped through her lips, and everything had gone to hell in a hand basket. Michael knew what it was and what it meant. He'd realized what he had to do, what he'd seen countless people do in their homes when they thought no one was looking. It seemed to be what she wanted from him. However, as soon as he had entered her, Michael could not stop himself, she had felt so good. At least, until he saw himself in her eyes – it stopped him cold. The sheer terror and pain, and for one moment, he could have sworn - loathing. The fear and pain were commonplace… But hatred? That was unacceptable coming from her.

He had never thought that something like that, something he had always viewed as a necessary evil, could feel the way it had…Usually if the need to relieve his tension arose, Michael successfully ignored it, and it would usually resolve itself by simply going away. On the other hand, when his physical needs couldn't be ignored and wouldn't "disappear"… In those times, he would just take care of them – as clinical and as simple as that. It never even occurred to him to do what others did. To release his tension with sex. He had never done it for pleasure, to him it never seemed anything important – really, it was just a chore.

But…with her... being inside her, surrounded by her, her scent, her touch… Even now, he could still feel her warm skin, the way she'd moved. A shudder wracked his frame, he could feel himself stir at the memory. His whole body felt odd, aware. A strange realization left him reeling and feeling a great amount of resentment towards her. He couldn't remember the last time he needed anyone or anything. So why her? Why now?

I _need_ you. I _want_ you. Those words had never before made sense as he'd overheard them whispered between a man and a woman. Now…it seemed he knew why he couldn't kill her, why he'd been so reluctant, so torn. Now he understood that he wanted her, that his body needed her. He craved her. To say an admission like that was surprising would have been a gross understatement. However, logically, it did make a certain amount of sense. In a way, it brought back a semblance of balance and control he always seemed to lose when he was near her.

Having sorted things out in his mind, Michael decided to return to the maintenance room and resolved to try to be more patient with her. If she had been skittish and afraid before, he reasoned that she would be even more so now. Tilting his head in thought, he also realized that he would have to wait for her to come to him, at least until she got used to him, until most - if not all, of the fear dissipated. He wasn't sure exactly how everything would work, what he needed to do…but he could be patient. For a while.

He also needed to consider that this fascination with her was becoming more then a little dangerous. Twice he'd been almost discovered while roaming Haddonfield's shadows. Twice too early, to make his presence known – Halloween was two months away. His thoughts turned to her far too easily and his concentration suffered because of it. He was getting sloppy and Michael knew he would have to do something to get her out of his mind. Short of killing her, that is. For some unfathomable reason, he couldn't bring himself to do that. God knew, he'd tried.

Rounding the last corner, Michael's eyes fell upon the partly open gate. Moving quickly and silently to the opening, he knew even before looking in, that she was gone. Michael's eyes narrowed and the fingers on his right hand clenched tightly around the hilt of the knife he was holding by his side. Standing there in the partial darkness of the tunnel, his previous fury turned into red-hot rage and before he knew what he was doing, his left fist slammed into the nearest brick wall. Damn her! He knew she couldn't be trusted!

Glaring into the darkness, he shook his head as calm emptiness slowly returned. It the end, it didn't matter if she ran. It wouldn't matter how far she went or how fast. Ever. He would always find her, always bring her back. As he moved silently down the familiar winding underworld of Haddonfield's darkest corners, Michael not once, stopped to ask himself; what about her?

Christine was lost.

Good grief, this place was a maze! Was she stumbling around in circles? Christine could have sworn she'd tripped over that same pipe, not five minutes ago. She could barely see anything, the further she'd made it from her prison, the darker it got.

A shriek tore from her throat as something flitted over her toes. Breathing heavily, Christine tried not to think of what _it_ was, muttering frantically **"Oh god, oh god, oh god…W-was that, was it a rat? What if it was a s-snake or a…" **Snapping her mouth shut, and putting a halt to her runaway thoughts, she fervently hoped it was a teeny-tiny defenseless little mouse, and not a giant plague infested fawning at the mouth rat. As ludicrous as it was, Christine was silently considering she'd be a lot safer with a certain masked murderer.

Moving around yet another damp corner, Christine kept a shaking hand on the musty walls, slowly pressing forward through the darkness, hoping she'd touch something resembling a ladder sooner or later. Hopefully before her fingers and toes fell off. Shivering, she tried not to think of the cold as it seeped into her body. Lord, but she was tired. This whole day had been a disaster from start to finish. Hell, the whole week! She frowned, trying to remember. Was it really a week? It couldn't be two. Could it? It was hard to keep track of time down here.

Panic gripped her heart with an ice-cold fist. Oh My God! How long had she been missing? Had her mother called while she was gone, and when she hadn't been able to reach her, called the police? Forcing herself to breathe in some much needed air. Christine tried to think more calmly. Her mother wouldn't do that. She'd probably think she was off somewhere indulging in a torrid affair with some foreign hot-and-loaded-as-sin-bachelor.

For reasons she refused to examine, Christine's fearful thoughts were of Michael's safety. It made absolutely no sense, but she didn't want him to get caught or hurt because of her. A fierce longing to be in his warm arms assailed her, making her stumble and frown bitterly into the dark.

She scolded herself for the umpteenth time **"Stop it! What is with you? He kidnapped you, for Christ sake! Held you against your will! Practically assaulted you!" **A decidedly warped little voice whispered back in her head. _He cared for you, when you were injured, when you were sick. He was even gentle at times. You felt it. For a moment you saw it in his eyes. He needs you, just as you need him._

Christine clutched her hands over her ears, frantically shaking her head. _NO! nononono._ _It wasn't real! It didn't mean anything! _She needed to stop thinking about him!_ He is a cold-blooded murderer!_ This whole situation was utterly demented! Dropping her hands tiredly, she blinked the blurriness of tears from her vision. That was it. It had to be. She was going insane, there was nothing more to it.

Away from him, she could think clearly, know that this was wrong, be reasonable…well, as reasonable as a kidnapped person in lust with her kidnapper could be. But as soon as he so much as stepped close to her, all her reasons, her logic, her resolve that being with him in any capacity was a VERY bad idea. Especially if he touched her. All her noble intentions and safety standards went out the proverbial window.

Maybe her mother was right, though it pained her to admit it, maybe she had been too long without someone…Was that why she was so attracted to Michael, because he was convenient?

Christine almost growled as her thoughts were tainted by the voice of reason; if convenience were the case, she'd be attracted to James before Michael. She knew James better, knew him to be a good man, a man who would never even dream of hurting her, or anyone else for that matter. Now, if only her hormones understood that.

Her fingers brushed the edges of protruding metal. Following the contoursmore firmly with her fingertips, she could have wept with relief as the shape became familiar. It was a ladder! Tucking the ragged blanket more securely against herself, Christine climbed up and knocked her head against something hard when she reached the top. Pushing at it with her hand, she felt it lift slightly for a moment. For that second, the brush of cool fresh air was like ambrosia to her starved senses.

Determined, Christine moved up as far as she could, maneuvered her shoulder against the cover and pushed up with every cell in her body. She could hear it scrape against something and then finally lift. Grasping the edge of the round cover, she pushed it aside as far as she could. It wasn't much, but enough to get out.

Gulping deep breaths of fresh air, Christine clutched the ladder with numb fingers and willed her legs to stop shaking. She climbed out of the manhole, feeling the familiar texture of asphalt under her hands and knees. She was free! She was safe! She'd never been so happy in her life! A twinge of guilt for Michael flared up, she promptly sqashed it.

As she got to her feet, Christine was suddenly blinded by a bright light, and then something blared powerfully in front of her. She froze in shock. A second later, something hard slammed into her, throwing her savagely into the pavement. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Pain exploded and radiated through every nerve ending of her being. She dazedly thought that she felt herself roll onto something soft, something green.

Then she couldn't think at all. Christine passed out.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Christine moaned painfully as awareness returned. She was on her back and someone was patting her cheek gently mumbling something. It took her a few moments to make out what the person was saying. She forced her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was the anxious weathered face above her, the second was the bright stars over his shoulder and the third that she was in a slight ditch on the side of a road. Wonderful.

"**Thank God! I thought you were dead. Are you hurt, miss? " **The man was kneeling beside her, checking her carefully for broken bones. Squinting up at him, Christine dazedly noted he was an older man, probably in his fifties. It would have terrified her that some stranger was looming over her, but from what she could tell, he had kind brown eyes that clearly showed his worry.

Shaking her head to clear it of the lightheadedness threatening to swamp her again, Christine frowned trying to remember what happened. **"No, I think I'm alright. Nothing feels wrong." **As he helped her to her feet, she amended with a wince **"I'm just a little bruised and scraped. W-what happened?" **She was grateful that he was holding her up, she wasn't quite sure she'd be able to stand on her own at the moment.

"**I almost hit you with my car. I turned away for a moment to check something and there you were in the middle of the road! If it weren't for him, you would certainly be severely injured or worse. He just came out of nowhere and…" **

She wasn't listening to him anymore, Christine wasn't even breathing. She had turned around when he'd motioned behind her, and who she saw lying a few feet away almost made her knees buckle. _Oh God! _**"Michael!"**

Christine hardly even realized she'd moved. Falling to her knees beside him, she frantically ran her hands over every inch of his body she could reach, praying he wasn't hurt too badly. She vaguely noticed he wasn't wearing his mask when she felt sticky wetness on the side of head.

She stared with blurry vision, horrified at the blood covering her fingertips. **"Michael, can you hear me? Michael please wake up…Please!" **Her frantic whisper received no reaction. With her other hand, she measured his pulse, closing her eyes with relief as she noted it was steady and strong. She was startled to realize she was crying, not daring to examine why. Christine jumped slightly as the man next to her plaaced a calming hand on her shoulder as he spoke. She'd completely forgotten he was there.

"**You'll wait here while I get some help miss. I'll call an ambulance so they can take him to the hospital and besides-" **He gave her bleeding shoulder a pointed look** "You need to get checked out too." **

Christine whirled around so fast the man had to step back to avoid being knocked over. **"No! You can't! I'm fine, really, and he…" **_He what?_ What was she supposed to say? _He's a mass murder and I don't want him to get caught? Good God, Michael could massacre the whole hospital if he woke up before they found out who he was, before they could restrain him in time._ The thought was a sobering one.

She knew what she had to do before she consciously made the decision. Christine couldn't let innocent people die because of her, even it if it meant her life would be in danger. _Damn him. _She let out a defeated sight, wiping her eyes. _So be it_.

Stiffening her spine, she put all the authority and conviction she could muster into her voice. **"I'm a nurse. I can take care of him until the doctor can come for a house call." **Motioning to the unconscious man at their feet, Christine continued, warming up to her lie. **"Michael is very nosocomephobic, he hates hospitals. He's terrified of them and he could hurt someone if he woke up there, it's that bad." **

The man was skeptical for a few excruciatingly long moments, but then finally nodded after a little more assurances from her **"Alright. I'll take you home." **Bending to Michaels prone body he maneuvered his arms under his and locked them around his chest with a firm grip **"You'll need to help me thugh, he's rather large and I'm not a strong as I used to be."**

Nodding gratefully, Christine moved to Michael's feet to help from the other end. It took them more than half an hour, with frequent pauses to maneuver him onto the backseat of the small car. She was worn out by the time they got him as comfortable as they could.

Excusing herself for a moment, Christine ran back to the ditch looking for Michaels mask. She spotted it a few feet away and scooped it up, hiding it in the folds of her blanket, somehow knowing he would want it when he woke up, and hoping the man helping them hadn't seen it.

Getting into the car, she sat on the passenger seat and turned on her side to keep an eye on Michael while frequently glancing out front, giving directions to her cabin. She was glad to note they were still in Haddonfield, glad they were on an isolated road. If she wasn't mistaken it lead to an old saw mill. Christine didn't want to think what could have happened if all this had occurred in the centre of town. It would have been literally a bloody nightmare. Sparing a glance to the man driving, she spoke quietly, laying a grateful hand on his arm **"Thank you." **Silently wondering if he worked at the mill and was on his way home, but couldn't bring herself to ask.

He shrugged **"It's the least I can do considering I almost ran you over. My name is Burke by the way. Burke Tavish."**

Nodding, Christine gave a slight smile **"I'm Christine Fields and that's-" **she faltered for a moment, not sure what to say. Swallowing nervously, she smiled a little more forcefully. **"That's my boyfriend, Michael." **She noticed him give her a look that said he found that a little hard to believe. Keeping her eyes averted, she mumbled **"We've had some problems recently."** As if that explained everything. She almost snorted. He had no idea.

Burke frowned **"Is that why you you're running around in a blanket? He threw you out, hon?" **His hands clenched on the steering wheel and he gave the poor girl a serious look **"If he's abusive to you, I'd be more than happy to pull the car over, throw his ass out and leave him there for some animal to chew on."**

Wide eyed, Christine blurted before she thought **"No! Of course not. I was just…the thing is…I…" **She had no idea how to explain. Her mind worked furiously for a plausible explanation, but she kept drawing a blank. She was saved when the dirt path up to her home came into view. **"There's my cabin!" **As they turned into her drive, she had the panicked thought of how the hell she would to get into her house? She didn't have her keys!

"**I'll be right back!" **She was out of the car before it stopped fully, running around the smal cabin. She jumped over the steps of the porch and skidded to a stop almost crashing into the back door. Tugging the handle, Christine was thankful for small miracles when the glass panel slid effortlessly to the side. Sprinting to her bedroom, she dropped the blanket she was wearing and practically tore the closet doors off in her haste. Diving in, she grabbed the first thing she found that would cover hear. Christine heard a seam tear as she harshly tugged a dress over her head. She didn't care.

That accomplished, she ran to the front door, turning the lights on in the cabin on the way, and located her keys. It took her three tries to shove the right damn key in the lock, and she almost broke it off when she turned it. Christine flew out the door the second she had it open wide.

Burke already had Michael out of the car. Turning his head to her, he asked **"You sure about this miss? I could still take him to the hospital." **

Shaking her head, Christine moved to them, bending to grab her "boyfriends" legs. **"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll take care of him and call the doctor as soon as I have him cleaned up and comfortable. " **She didn't look at Burke, sure that he'd see the lie on her face, instead she put all her focus on the task of moving Michael into her house, and subsequently into her bed. It was not how she'd imagined having him there.

Stumbling, Christine almost dropped him as she realized what she'd thought. Too tired to argue with herself right now, she pushed all though out of her head and worked on autopilot. There would be time for that later, _much_ later.

Both her and Burke heaved a relieved sigh as they left Michael lying stretched out in her bedroom. Her rescuer, and she did think of him that way, moved a tired hand over his face and through his hair, making the salt and pepper strands stand up at all angles. Christine was sympathetic, he was supposed to be home with his family, not hauling an passed out serial killer around in his car. _Though on second thought, it's better that Michael's unconscious._ **"Would you like a cup of coffee, something to eat maybe?" **She asked hopefully, wondering how to repay his kindness.

He shook his head firmly, glancing at his watch **"Fraid not. It's past two a.m.. I need to get home, my wife's probably in quite a state already." **He gave her a playful wink **"Don't want to get in danger twice in one night." **Moving to the door, he hesitated **"You absolutely **_**sure**_** about…" **He nudged his head in the direction of her bedroom.

Chuckling, she nodded **"We'll be fine Mr. Tavish. Thank you for all your help." **Christine stepped up to him, lifted on tiptoe and gave him a grateful peck on the cheek, amused when he blushed to the roots of his hair.

Clearing his throat, he fumbled for the doorknob. **"No problem. Have a good night, and promise me you'll be more careful in the future young lady." **As he stepped out, he gave her a knowing look that made her nervous** "And do call a doctor for your friend, though if I were you, I'd call an ambulance and have them deal with him. Something tells me he's a handful."**

After assuring him for what it felt like the tenth time and saying good night, Christine watched him drive off for a few moments before closing and locking the door. Leaning against it, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Turning her head, she stared blankly at the thin white wall separating the main room from the bedroom. Michael was there, in her bed, unconscious, vulnerable. She was screwed. Christine debated whether she should tie him down or not. Deciding against it after some thought. It was a good chance it would make him even more dangerous, because eventually, she'd have to release him.

Pushing from the door, Christine moved to her bathroom for a quick shower and to get everything she'd need to take care of Michaels wounds. Turning on the spray of tepid water, she disrobed and stepped into the tub. The gash on his head worried her. He had probably hit his head when he'd tackled her, she just had no idea how hard or how bad the trauma was. It could just be cut skin, but that didn't seem likely since he was still out cold. It could be a concussion, which she'd find out how severe, when or if he woke up. On the other hand, it could be worse…he could have suffered a cerebral contusion, in that case, she couldn't do anything for him, he would need a specialist. The not knowing was killing her.

After drying off, taking care of her own scrapes and putting a pair comfy sweats paired wth a large T-shirt, Christine grabbed her first aid kit and a basing filled with warm water. Grabbing a washcloth on the way out, she juggled the items to her bedroom.

Setting her things on the table beside the bed, Christine turned to her patient and faltered, scowling. _Hell, I'll have to undress him!_ She stared at the zipper of his jumpsuit as if it was a deadly snake. Arriving at the conclusion that she could delay the inevitable, she grabbed up her things and scurried to the other side of the bed. **"I'm **_**not**_** a coward." **She snorted disbelievingly at the muttered words.

Focusing on Michaels head wound, carefully cutting away a little of his hair on either side of it, as close to his scalp as she dared, she then prepared her sewing kit. Christine washed the three-inch cut with diluted peroxide, glad to find that it wasn't bleeding anymore and that it wasn't all that deep. After making sure with a magnifying glass that the cut was as clean as possible, she picked up the small needle and thread. Glancing at him, she just hoped he wouldn't wake up _yet_.

Sixteen small stitches later, Christine flexed her cramping fingers, happy with the even result. She was done and thank god he hadn't awakened. Except for a few twitches here and there, he was as unresponsive as ever. Reaching for gauze and a long bandage, she carefully wrapped his head, whispering **"Michael? It's time to wake up now…"** Nada. Frowning at him, she mumbled **"Well, I guess you'll wake up like you do everything else…on your own terms."** Getting up, she shuffled to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she was back with a steaming cup of coffee, practically moaning as the warm liquid slid down her throat. She stood staring at the bedside clock for long moments; three thirty a.m.. _Lord this was going to be a long night._ She couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept. Setting the half-empty cup on the table, Christine rolled her stiff shoulders, glaring at his clothing, hoping it just vanish by the power of her will. No such luck. Huffing, she muttered **"Better get this over with as quickly as possible. Like a band-aid, just rip it off." **Groaning, Christine could have kicked herself. **"Damned wrong choice of words."**

* * *

Review please :)**  
**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_You can do this…_ Taking a fortifying breath, Christine moved to kneel on the bed next to him and got right down to business as professionally as she could. Probably a doomed ambition as this point. Closing her eyes tightly, she imagined a calm, ethical hospital setting to ease her mind, blocking out the sight of crimson satin sheets crumpled under Michael's large muscular form. _You can do this… _

The first thing she wrestled out of his jumpsuit were his arms; wrestled being the optimum word here. Half way through, Christine seriously considered the appealing idea of putting a pair of scissors to good use. Although on second thought, she didn't want Michael to snap her neck over, what he probably considered clothing. She on the other hand, didn't even consider the dirty, torn material worthy of cutting up into rags. In her opinion, the only thing his current attire would serve - was a roaring fire.

Pulling his zipper down as far as it could go, and it seemed to go too damn far for her comfort, Christine had trouble swallowing past her suddenly dry throat. She stared, transfixed at the rough blue material covering his more…ahem… interesting bits. A maddening thin trail of dark curling hair led down from his navel, like a naughty guideline, and disappeared under the cursed fabric.

"**Just a quick peek wouldn't hurt anyone…" **she whispered, as her hand hovered over the edges of Michael's jumpsuit. But before Christine's shaking fingers could make contact, the uttered words jolted her back to reality. Her mind railed. _Are you nuts? That's how this whole mess started in the first place! Because you stuck your nose into a room that you had no damned business sneaking into, and now you almost did the same with his pants!_

Hurriedly grabbing up the washcloth and water from the bedside table, Christine swiftly turned her attention elsewhere. For god sakes, she was acting like a horny teenager! And she hadn't acted like that even when she_ was_ a teenager. She needed to get this over and done with, for the love of her sanity if nothing else. As quickly as possible. Starting at his face, she carefully, gently moved over his strong features, marveling at how gorgeous he was. Not in the clean-cut-nine-to-five-perfection, Michael was more the rugged I-have-been-through-hell-and-back handsome. It made it hard to concentrate. _Focus!_

Blowing out a frustrated breath at herself, Christine moved the cloth down to his chest, and had to stop herself from drooling like a simpleton. She _really_ liked his shoulders and abs. Michael was, in a physical sense, a very well defined man, but not overly so, more…naturally, leanly... as opposed to a gym obsessed body builder, who usually looked like he'd been blown up and twisted into shape by a ticked off party clown.

Her amusement died a quick death when Michael groaned next to her.

A flash of panic rose in her chest. _Good god, is he waking up?_ Christine bolted off the bed, not eager for him to find her hovering over him if he did. The situation could become too dangerous in a hurry; he'd almost killed her twice before when she'd inadvertantly surprised him. Carefully leaning closer to peer at his face, she let out a strangled breath after a few tense moments, absurdly relieved that he was still out of it.

Easing herself back on the bed, Christine took her time with his upper body, tugging/pulling on his shoulders to reach his back as well. It was like trying to roll a beached whale, he just kept slipping. She didn't give up though.

After that was finally done, she sat back on her heels, wondering what to do next, all the while doing her best to ignore the lower half of him. _Really, the man lives in the sewers, he can damn well sleep in his jumpsuit for a night._ It annoyed her that she was being such a coward over this, it wasn't like she'd never seen a male appendage in her life…she just wasn't sure she wanted to cross that line with him. Christine was terrified that if she did, it would mean more then she was willing to admit, more then she could deal with right now.

Absently glancing down at her hand, Christine was startled to notice her fingers petting the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. Jerking her hand away as if bitten, she was more than a little unsettled by the unintentional intimate act. Her subconscious self was enjoying this too much for her piece of mind.

Bounding off the bed, Christine went to splash some cold water on her face, and maybe a bucket of ice over her head.

Taking a little extra time in the bathroom to get a hold of herself and her suddenly raging libido, Christine frowned angrily at her reflection **"For goodness sake, you're acting as if you'd never seen a half naked man in your life!"**Not like that she hadn't. Christine usually preferred brains over brawn. Boy did she miss out. Her eyes shot daggers at the woman glaring back at her **"Will you give it a break already!" **Turning on her heel, she threw her hands up in disgust **"Great, now I've graduated to arguing with a mirror. What's next? The floor lamp?"**

Returning to the torture chamber, formally known as her bedroom, Christine stopped at the foot of the bed and gave his feet a dirty look. _Figures he'd ware lace up boots. _Impatiently undoing all of them, she experimentally tugged on the left one. It wouldn't budge. Huffing, she placed her hands on her hips, hissing through clenched teeth **"You know what? You **_**are**_** more trouble than you're worth!" **The obstinate man didn't even have the decency to let lose an apologetic snore.

Levering her foot on the edge of the bed, Christine grabbed the heel with one hand and the top with the other, muttering **"I can't believe I'm doing this…" **and yanked. She careened backwards out of the room with a surprised yelp when it came off. Muttering curses as she regained her balance, she stomped back in, throwing the hellish footwear haphazardly over her shoulder. Christine tackled the second one and landed on her ass with a loud thud when it got off his blasted foot, cursing **"Unbelievable. That's it, I'm done."**

That was the last straw, she'd had it! She was too beat up, too tired and too emotionally drained to do anything more for him. Moreover, for what she'd already done and gone through in one night, Christine was positive she deserved to become an angel in the afterlife. Or maybe a minor deity considering who she was taking care of. She was certain Michael would sooner slash her throat then feel grateful. If this whole situation wasn't the epitome of ridiculous she didn't know what was.

In the next few hours, Christine cleared away her medical supplies, cleaned the bathroom, tossed out the spoiled food in the fridge and made a shopping list to replace it. And that was exactly where she went at eight am - shopping.

She was apprehensive about leaving Michael alone in the house for an hour or so, but figured her luck had to change sometime. Fate couldn't be that cruel, right? The first sign that fate was listening came the moment Christine tuned the key in her car's ignition, and it actually rumbled to life without her usual prodding, bargaining or begging!

Grinning, Christine patted the dash **"Please baby, just make it to the store and back in one piece, and I swear I won't tow you to the junkyard anytime soon. I'll even buy you new tires!" **Thank goodness, the bribe seemed to work.

Luckily, Christine didn't bump into anyone familiar at the grocery store since it was still early. The only one that commented about her six-day absence was Karen, the elderly cashier, and Christine managed to appease her curiosity without much fumbling, surprised that the lie about being out of town for a few days came to her so easily. She did feel a little sorry about it, but figured it was better than the truth any day. She could just imagine that conversation.

_Oh, I got kidnapped by a serial killer, taken underground somewhere, lusted after him for a few days and then amazingly escaped. And did I mention I almost got run over? No? Well, Mr. Mayers was so sweet and actually saved me, got knocked out, and now he's waiting for me at home, spread like a gigolo on my bed! Enough about me, how was your week Karen? _Uh-huh. That would go over fabulously. Karen would've had a heart attack the second after calling in the national guard.

Walking swiftly back to her car, Christine almost dropped a heavy bag on her foot when a **very** familiar voice called her name. Her mind panicked. _Not him! Not now! _Quickening her pace, she tried to keep from running the last few feet to her vehicle. _People really needed to stop sneaking up on me, or I swear, one day I __**am**__ going to drop something! _Hopefully a grenade, she was in the mood to take someone with her.

"**Christine! Hey..." **

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she cringed inwardly with a twinge of guilt before turning around and plastering a cheerful smile on her face **"James! Hi! Uhh…sorry, I was a bit distracted." **Her fingers tightened on the plastic bags, praying he wouldn't ask too many questions.

Waving away her apology, he grinned **"I get that. So how are you? I haven't seen you around for a few days." **His smile turned teasing **"You haven't been avoiding me have you?" **

_I wish it were that simple. _She couldn't help but notice the slight concern in his eyes about her answer and it made her guilt rise tenfold. **"No, of course not! I've..." **Christine cleared her throat **"I've been visiting with my mom for a few days, meeting her new beau and all that…" **Looking up at him, she smiled **"How have you been?" **

James leaned on the car next hers, shrugging **"Busy with the shop, but that's nothing new." **He chuckled good-naturedly **"So, your mom has a new guy huh, how is he?" **

Distracted by placing her things in the back of her car, Christine mumbled **"How's who?"** _Oh hell! _Jerking up, she bumped her head, realizing her mistake the moment the words slipped passed her lips. She rubbed her head **"Ouch."  
**

His brows drew together **"The new beau… Christine, you ok?" **Reaching for her arm, James pulled her to him and ran a careful hand through her hair where she knocked the top of her head on the trunk door.

Blushing furiously, Christine laughed in embarrassment as she gently disentangled herself from his grip **"Gerry! He's nice and my mom seems to really like him." **Meeting his worried gaze, she grinned widely, waving away his concern **"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little tired. I didn't get much sleep last night..." **Her thoughts immediately turned to Michael, making her realize that she'd lingered longer then she'd planned. Flashing James an apologetic smile, Christine closed the trunk with a louder than necessary bang **"I have to get going. I'll talk to you soon…" **

James followed her around the car, a slight frown marring his boyish features **"Oh, okay." **He gave her a sheepish smile** "Umm…I was kind of hoping you'd have time to grab a cup of coffee with me, but I guess if you have to go…"**

There rose the guilt again. **"Yeah, I really do…" **Christine hesitated a moment before speaking again, giving him a small smile **"I'll call you tomorrow and we'll set up a lunch…uhh date." **She really hadn't wanted to say date, but lunch appointment seemed just too businesslike.

Christine had to avert her eyes as James practically beamed at her **"Great, I'll look forward to it."**

Starting her car, she sighed. _I really wish I could say the same._ Now she just had to figure out how to get Michael out of her life in the next few days. Christine had a sneaking suspicion that an easier goal would be to free climb Everest.

There were three things of varying importance that Michael noticed when his eyes shot open. The first and by far the most disturbing; he was without his mask. The second, which was just bewildering; he was half-naked. And the third; he was in someone's bed.

It didn't take him more than a second to realize it was _her_ bed, in _her _house. The pillows and sheets, hell the whole room, smelled like her. Clean, with a hint of apples and cinnamon from the shampoo she favored, and a more subtle musk that was all her. The mixture was permanently imprinted onto his brain, he would recognize it anywhere.

Turning toward the window, Michael had to stifle a groan as his head pounded mercilessly. He ignored it, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He didn't need a clock to tell him it was afternoon, judging by the light shining through the glass pane it was about four. How long had he been unconscious? How did he get here? And more importantly, why the hell was he here at all?

Determined to get some answers, he got out of bed and stumbled towards the door as a wave of dizziness threatened to bring him to his knees. Michael braced against the doorframe for a few long moments, breathing deeply though his nose. His skull felt like it was about to splint in two.

Concentrating on the sounds of the house, he couldn't make out any movement coming from the other rooms. Was he alone? Or was she patiently waiting to attack from a shadowed corner? He wouldn't put it past her if she was desperate enough. It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to get the drop on him either.

Opening the door, Michael carefully made his way into the main room, intently scanning every corner for an ambush. He didn't know if he was surprised or disappointed that a SWAT team wasn't waiting for him, or at least a lowly deputy.

Keeping his back to the wall, he stepped a few feet into the large open space. Michael tilted his head curiously when he didn't even see a sign of her. Where the hell was she? The thought that she'd abandoned her home didn't sit particularly well with him.

A soft snore from the living area had his head turning sharply in its direction. Moving closer, Michael was greeted by the sight of Christine sprawled over a large gray couch on her stomach, her right arm and leg on the floor and a huge quilted cushion over her head. She snored again, a bit louder this time.

Michael's first instinct was to throw her over his shoulder and get out of this place as soon as humanly possible. Even though her cabin afforded a small measure of privacy, he preferred the solitude and darkness of the sewers. However, he resisted the urge, moving around with her in broad daylight would be too much of a risk. Besides that, his body still felt the strain of being clipped by a car.

Bending down, Michael gathered her up in his arms and had to clench his jaw as his left shoulder protested. Shifting her in his grip so her head rested on his other shoulder, he froze as Christine sighed contentedly, placed her hand on his chest and buried her face into his neck. Michael suppressed a shiver at the feel of her hot palm on his cool skin. The light contact sent a wave of heat coursing through his body like a bolt of lightning.

He tightened his grip on her as he made his way back to her bedroom. He needed rest and wasn't about to let her out of his sight for the duration. Placing Christine in the centre of the bed, he settled down next to her. A part of him was pleased that she was there, that she hadn't disappeared. The other, questioned her motives. He even questioned his own, not sure what he was doing there in the first place.

His whole thought process died and his frame stiffened when Christine turned around to face him, doing what could only be described as snuggling into his side, while mumbling something completely incoherent, followed by another loud snore. Michael would never know what possessed him at that moment… he pulled her closer so that she was almost draped over him and buried his face into her hair, breathing her in…


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

A pair of big, warm hands were running over her back, massaging and kneading her muscles to the point of her body feeling as wonderfully limp as overcooked spaghetti. A sighed moan escaped her lips **"Mmm…" **Whatever the hunky masseuse was doing in her dream, Christine never wanted it to stop. And she knew he had to be a hunk, her mind wouldn't make up something this delicious without supplying a half naked god. Another moan sounded from her when his hands went lower, under her sweats, his long fingers kneading her buttocks. _Oooh, he definitely knows what he's doing. _A contented smile spread across her features while supple warmth pooled low in her belly.

Christine was so warm and toasty, and her dreamy haze was just too wonderful to throw away for a day of worry and aggravation. She nuzzled into her warm pillow, moving her arms up slightly so the stroking hands could reach her sides, mumbling sleepily **"It can wait…" **It definitely could, the dream was just getting interesting. The warm contact of him felt almost real; she could practically feel the calluses on his palms and fingernails scraping gently along her heated flesh. If only she could turn around and see his face, but her whole being felt too delightfully lethargic for her to bother. Instead, she concluded to just enjoy this for as long as it lasted.

After a few more arousing minutes, her eyebrows drew together in confusion. _It is just me, or is my pillow… breathing?_ Popping one eye open, Christine saw she was in her bedroom. _How did I get in here? _Perplexed, she opened both eyes and turned her head up, meeting a pair of smoldering dark blue ones.

"**Oh my god!" **she shrieked, frantically pushing off of a surprised Michael. Her legs got tangled up in the sheets and before he could catch her, Christine ended up crashing to the floor in a flailing heap of burgundy satin.

Michael instantly bolted from the bed and grabbed her arms, pulling her up. Amusement flickered in his eyes as she battled to untangle herself from the sheet, while at the same time worked to right her crumpled clothing and tame her wild mane of hair. Looking at her flushed cheeks, wide eyes and heaving chest, Michael had a hard time deciding if he found her more appealing now, or before, when she'd moaned and writhed on top of him in complete sensuous abandon. It had taken everything in him not to flip her over and bury himself in her heat.

Christine, however, didn't know if she was more aroused, embarrassed or terrified. Probably a bizarre mixture of all three. She couldn't believe what just happened! It was supposed to be a nice relaxing dream, not an intro to Idiots-Gone-Wild! Closing her eyes tightly, Christine bit back a pained groan at the memory of her rubbing against him like a cat in heat, and the moans! Good god! She'd moaned like he was a rare treat to savor! **"Hell!" **Yep, she was in hell.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her shred the edge of her T-shirt with anxious fingers. For some unfathomable reason it annoyed Michael to no end that she kept avoiding his gaze. He wanted her attention focused on him. Moving closer, he firmly stopped her nervous behavior by gripping her hands with one of his. Instantly, Christine's eyes shot up to his, wide with fearful surprise as she tried to tug herself free. **"No-"**

Michael only tightened his grip, making her wince as she stumbled into him. He stared, captivated, when her tongue snaked out to wet her lips before she whimpered **"Your grip…please, let me go…" **Turning his head away for a moment, he contemplated what to do. Her timid behavior didn't please him, the opposite in fact, it darkened his already volatile mood. He wasn't sure why, but it became very important that she come to him. That it was her choice, her desire. He wanted her like she was before, he wanted her unafraid and willing, uninhibited and eager.

A part of Christine was shocked when he actually released her and took a step back. The rest of her was just plain confused. Michael kept switching gears on her and she had no clue as to how to deal with him when he did it. Frankly, it, he intimidated the hell out of her, mainly because she couldn't read him. Gathering her frayed composure, she went with the old-fashioned practice of ignoring it, wishing she could do the same with the rest of him.

Clearing her throat, she motioned to the bed, trying to keep her voice from shaking and failed miserably **"C-could you sit down please…um…I-I'd like to check the bandage on your head." **It unnerved her, the way he stared directly into her eyes without blinking for an endless moment before he complied.

Seeing him on her bed again, Christine instantly regretted the fact she didn't have any chairs in her bedroom, even a stool would have been preferable. Fidgeting, she recited her newfound mantra in her head. _You can do this, you can do this,… _Michael actually made her queen sized bed look tiny by comparison. Her eyes met his and her courage went out the window. _Who are you kidding? You can't do this._

Turning on her heel, Christine fled from the room, tossing over her shoulder **"I'll be right back! Just…uhh…I just need some supplies!" **Well, it wasn't a total lie, she did need new bandages and gauze. Remembering she bought some this morning, she headed straight for the kitchen and spotted the paper bag containing her excuse sitting on the counter, right where she'd left it. Picking it up, Christine took a few deep breaths and released them slowly, unwilling to admit she was stalling. What was wrong with a bit of procrastination anyway? People did it all the time.

God, she was disgusted with herself right now. Since when did she develop a toothpick instead of a backbone? She had the perfect answer; it was all his fault! If Michael wasn't so god damn threatening to her piece of mind, or her health for that matter, she would have stood up to him the moment he loomed his way into her life. Straightening her shoulders, Christine resolved to march in there and take the bull by the horns, so to speak. He wasn't the boss of her and she was done cowering like a damned rabbit! _And if he has a problem with that, he can just go suck on a- _she whirled around and slammed headfirst into a wall of naked muscle **"EEEK!"**

Lighting quick, Michel caught her before she hit the ground as his ears rang with her yell. Looking down at her, his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. She was gulping air like a fish and shaking like a leaf. Was she that terrified of him? As soon as she was steady, he reluctantly released her and took a step back. It was becoming obvious to him that she was going to be a lesson in patience. He just wasn't sure she was worth the aggravation.

Clutching her chest, Christine's head shot up and she glared at him, gasping **"Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack!" **Good lord, where had he come from? She hadn't even heard a sound! Glowering, she pursed her lips; so much for her backbone, he just shot that to hell and turned it into dust.

Shaking her head with a sigh, Christine picked up the bag she'd dropped. Taking his hand, she moved toward the couch, and came to a sudden jolting stop when he didn't move. Turning her head, she gave him a curious look **"What's wrong?" **Christine blushed to the roots of her hair as she realized Michael was staring at their clasped hands. **"Oh!" **She instantly released him as if he'd burned her. Turning her back on him, she silently chided herself for her impulsive behavior while quickly making her way into the living room and plopping down on the sofa.

It didn't take him long to follow her. Christine watched him from the corner of her eye as he tilted his head slightly as if contemplating something for a few moments before carefully sitting down beside her on the couch. She bit back a smile. It seemed he never did anything without thinking it through first.

Michael observed her intently as she arranged the content of her bag on the small table in front of them. His eyes moved to hers the moment she turned to him fully, speaking softly **"I'm going to take off your bandage now and take a look at how your head is healing, ok?" **He remained completely still as she moved closer to him and started working. Michael realized he liked being this close to her, able to smell her scent and feel her touching him. Her fingers were gentle, yet firm as they moved through his hair tenderly prodding the wound. He barely felt a pinch when she touched it directly.

He could see the apology in her eyes before she said it **"I'm sorry if this hurts. I promise I'll make it quick."** A small part of him felt surprised that she gave him consideration when he wouldn't have given her any if the situation were reversed. It disconcerted him, absurdly made him feel like they weren't on equal footing. Michael was pulled out of his disturbing thoughts when she smiled at him **"It looks really good. The bleeding's stopped completely; it's nice and pink everywhere, so no infection. And the stitches are holding up better then I hoped." **She busied herself putting the things back in the bag **"I'm going to put some antibiotic cream on it, just in case, and after an hour or so bandage it up again, and if it keeps healing this well, we'll take the stitches out in a few short days." **Michael found himself staring at her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were full, the lower a little thicker then the upper, and the urge to bite them, taste them, almost overwhelmed him. Her eyes turned as round as saucers as he leaned closer to her. She sounded breathless **"M-Michael, what-?" **He didn't let her finish. Michael pressed his mouth to hers and had to suppress a possessive growl as her eyes closed after a few frozen seconds and she melted against him.

Christine was lost in a haze of electric sensation. His lips were better then she'd imagined. Firm, yet soft, yielding and yet commanding. Tilting her head, she pressed closer to him, running her hands hesitantly to his wide shoulders. She was supposed to push him away, wasn't she? Then why did it feel like she was tugging him closer?

A quiet moan escaped her when she felt his arm wrap around her middle like a vice and pull her more firmly against him, crushing her breasts into the planes of his strong chest. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders when he sharply bit her bottom lip. She moaned louder. Christine couldn't stop this even if her life depended on it, and if she were honest, she didn't want to.

Timidly, she ran her tongue over the seam of his lips, and was pleasantly surprised when he did the same to her. Growing bolder, she did it again, but this time waited for him to join her. She didn't have to wait long. Briefly, she wondered if he'd ever done this before, and just as quickly dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

The first contact of his tongue on hers sent a jolt of raw need cursing to every nerve ending in her body, making her tremble. Suddenly she felt too hot, to constricted in her clothing. Christine couldn't suppress the disappointed whimper that escaped her throat when Michael tore his mouth away from hers. Opening her eyes, she stared at him, breathing heavily and wondering why he stopped. The look in his eyes was utterly wild, they looked almost black, smoldering.

It frightened her and excited her in equal measure. Before her mind could catch up to her, Michael pounced with a low growl. His right arm crushed her back into his hard body, and his left hand savagely tangled in her hair jerking her head back. Tears stung her eyes at the pain. Shocked, Christine opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but the words never made it past her lips as Michael sealed his mouth over hers in a bruising kiss.

His hot, wet tongue pried her lips open and he swept in without any resistance. Christine could only hang on to him for dear life. Michael completely overpowered her senses and dominated her will. It was in that moment that something snapped in her. Her own matching growl built up in her throat and her fingers knotted into his cropped hair with equal force. Giving as good as she got, Christine explored his mouth as he took hers. The spicy, intoxicating taste of him drove her wild, and fueled her on, fueled the sudden fire blazing under her skin, fueled the heat pooling in her belly and lower. Their tongues dueled for dominance and mouths slanted in feverish abandon, neither of them willing to give an inch.

It wasn't gentle, or loving, or considerate. It was primitive and animalistic and untamed. He kept her head still for his invasion and Christine moaned into his mouth with delight as he sucked on her tongue and then bit the tip. Grazing her teeth on his upper lip and nipping the lower, she was rewarded by a low growl from him. It was the most erotic sound she'd ever heard and she bit him again just to have the pleasure of hearing it once more, feeling his chest vibrate against hers with the low tone.

Michael was just as far gone as she was, if not more. She was like a drug and he couldn't get enough of her. He marveled at how soft she was, better then he remembered. How well she fit him and how damned good she tasted. She brought out the animal in him and it wanted to possess her completely. He wanted, no, needed to brand her as his. _Somehow_. It drove him. Michael needed her to know to whom she belonged. That she was his. Only his.

He groaned as he felt her small warm hand caress from his shoulder down to his chest and on to his side, and he growled when he felt her fingernails scraping over his ribs. This was exactly what he wanted from her, how he wanted her; moaning at the pleasure he demanded from her. Every sound she made was permanently seared into his memory. Leaning back on the couch, Michael lifted her up without breaking their kiss and moved her so she straddled his lap. The new position created even more heated friction between their straining bodies and he desperately wanted to shred every damnable scrap of clothing between them, wanted to feel _her_.

Feeling his hand release her hair, a part of Christine lamented the lost contact. The rest of her, still being devoured by Michaels expert kisses couldn't care one whit either way. A shiver crawled up her spine as his hands moved on her back, under her shirt. The firm up and down and circling movements almost hypnotic.

Hearing the material tear, Christine tore her mouth from his and froze. Unbidden a memory intruded of her time in captivity. _**That**_ time specifically. When he'd…when…A cry tore from her lips **"No! I can't!-"** Neither of them knew she could move so fast. Christine lunged off of him and the couch in a heartbeat, shaking from head to toe, strangling out from her tight throat **"I'm sorry…" **

She needed to get away from him. Now! Running to the bathroom, Christine none too gently slammed the door behind her and leaned heavily against the panel, trying to calm her racing heart. How in the world was she supposed to get through this unscathed? Her hands were shaking and her palms felt clammy, her stomach was in knots and she could swear her knees wobbled. Christine had never experienced such a powerful reaction to anyone in her life and it freaked her out to her core.

Her whole life she'd wanted consistency and safety, and with him Christine had everything but. Michael was fear and danger and death and…and passion. She brushed her fingertips against her swollen lips in wonder, they still tingled from his kiss and she could still taste him. **So** much passion, so much sensual heat mixed with adrenaline. He made her head spin, made her forget everything she once so desperately craved from her, now seemingly monotonous, existence.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Meanwhile, Michael was dealing with his own conflicted emotions. His whole body felt unnatural. His breathing had become irregular, he felt hot and constricted in the small space, and he was becoming agitated. Circling the couch for the third time, Michael stopped in his tracks, suppressed a low growl and slashed an angry hand through his hair. He never paced, and he wasn't about to start now. The nervous action proclaimed a disgusting lack of discipline he would never attribute to himself. Turning his head in the direction of the closed door Christine had escaped through, his eyes narrowed dangerously. She'd been in there for half an hour and his patience was wearing perilously thin.

Michael had no clue as to what had come over her to make her bolt. Running through every moment of their encounter through his mind, he was sure that she'd enjoyed it as much, if not more, then him…so why the sudden withdrawal? What had happened that had scared her senseless? Hearing the shower turn on, Michael moved to the bathroom door wanting nothing more than to barge in and strangle the woman for not making any damned sense. As appealing as the thought was, he dismissed it. He didn't need her screaming her head off, though small, she had a pair of lungs that made him want to cringe every time she screeched. Not that he ever would, but the impulse was there.

Staring at the patterns in the wood without seeing them, he couldn't help but remember the throaty sounds she'd made when he'd kissed her, which inevitably led his imagination wandering to her slick and wet under the heated spray of the shower. His fingers itched to move his hands over her supple naked skin in place of the water cascading down her flesh…

Abruptly turning his back to the door, Michael savagely bit back a groan and put a halt to his thoughts. She was going to drive him insane if he let her. He wanted to punch something.

Better yet, he wanted to kill.

Michael flexed his shoulders before turning and stalking into the kitchen in search of a knife. He remembered seeing a glimpse of a block set on the counter. The moment the cold familiar weight of the knife settled in his palm, Michael felt his equilibrium return. His mind and his senses sharpened, focused to a single point. Death. Something he knew, something he was familiar with.

Moving to the sliding door, he pulled it open just as her voice washed over him like ice.

"**If you go out there with **_**my**_** knife, I swear I will call every law enforcement agency I can think of."**

Surprise that he hadn't heard her coming before she spoke turned to anger as her words registered. Michael turned his head sharply to glare at her and had to clench his teeth as fierce desire slammed through him like a truck.

She had no idea of the picture she presented with her defiant stance, flashing eyes and flushed cheeks. Ignorant of the fact that she was only wrapped up in a towel, which barely left anything to his imagination. Her wet hair cascaded in a tangled glossy mass past her shoulders and droplets of water clung to her in a way that Michael could barely leash the sudden need urging him to lick every single one of them.

His mood only darkened with his thoughts. Was this how it was to be? That every time he'd see her, think of her, he'd have to fight with this irrational power she'd developed over him? This ridiculous urge to stay in her presence, to touch her in some way, or to just hear her speak? Like hell it would, she had no hold over him, no right to demands, ultimatums or expectations, and it was time to get that point across.

If Christine had been more alert, she'd notice the subtle change in him, the way one of his hands tightened on the knife, the other into a fist, or the way his eyes turned stone cold. Instead, she impatiently folded her hands across her chest and glared, completely focused on her anger **"I mean it, Michael. If you step one foot out that door, don't bother coming back." **She was furious and horrified at the same time. How could he go from hot to cold so quickly? From the wild passionate man who had kissed her senseless and turned her calm little world into chaos, to the unfeeling blank shadow holding _her_ knife, intent on doing god knows what to god knows who? To think, she'd been driving herself nuts in the bathroom trying to sort things out in her head, trying to overcome her fears, her insecurities. That she'd been worried about him, worried about hurting his pride, his feelings?

_Hah! What a joke! As if he has any! _

Looking at his empty eyes and unreadable features, Christine concluded he didn't need a mask to look cold and lifeless. _He is doing a damned marvelous job without it._ A bitter pain slashed into her heart and spiked her anger up another notch, past the realm of rational thought. Right now, Christine desperately wished he would talk, that he'd say something, yell at her so she could yell back. She was spoiling for a fight.

Watching her closely, Michael took a menacing step in her direction, satisfied when her eyes widened and she took an involuntary step back. Doing the same twice more, his head tilted when she seemed to realize what she was doing and abruptly stopped her retreat.

Christine squared her shoulders and stood her ground while he crowded her. Tilting her head back so she could glare directly into his eyes, her mouth set in a tight line of disapproval **"You don't scare me Michael. Not after the way you ki…er…mauled me on the couch."**

He knew differently. Before she could finish a gasp, Michael had her backed up to the wall with a knife at her throat. Thrusting his leg between hers, he pinned her, forcing her to go on tiptoe and flatten her palms against the wall to keep her balance. An action he hadn't thought through very well, because it made him instantly aware of the moist heat pressing into his thigh and had his mind wandering into salacious waters.

He growled, his mind cursing a blue streak. Looking into her eyes, Michael almost gave voice to a curse. She was staring at him with a look he was starting to recognize and it damned well wasn't the terror he expected.

And for a few moments he hated her for it.

Christine's heart hammered in her chest, but not from fear. Okay, she admitted silently, maybe a little from fear, but mostly it was from being so damn close to him. Too close, and yet…not nearly close enough. Her eyes dropped down to his mouth and she had to shut them tightly. _God, how I want him to kiss me like that again._ The memory of it was a torture she couldn't stop replaying in her head. Christine squirmed, uncomfortable, and froze as the small movement shot a jolt of liquid lust from her core to every nerve ending.

Replacing the knife with his hand, Michael wrapped his fingers around her throat, massaging her jugular with his thumb. Glaring directly into her gray eyes, feeling her pulse pound, he slowly tightened his hold and watched her react. At first she remained perfectly calm, looking right at him, but the as his fingers dug into her skin with more power, blocking her airway, recognition sparked and he could practically feel the fear that was previously missing flood over her being after the initial shock wore off.

"… **s-sto-p…" **choking and gasping for air, Christine grabbed at his hand and dug her fingernails into his skin, trying to loosen his grip. Her mind was screaming, _Michael, stop it! Why are you doing this? _All she could manage out loud was a gurgle. She could feel her lungs straining painfully and it was all she could do not to have a full-blown panic attack. Soon spots started to dance in front of her and she struggled harder, moving her legs, trying to kick him. It didn't work. Michael was too strong for her and she couldn't get any leverage the way he had her pinned to do any real damage! This was a nightmare, her frazzled mind tried to understand why this was happening, but Christine couldn't think beyond desperately wanting to breathe! _I don't want to die like this, please!_

Michael felt completely detached, her struggles didn't faze him, nor did the tears spilling onto his hand. He didn't feel a thing as he slowly chocked the life out of her. He didn't even feel the sting of her fingernails as they clawed and broke his skin. He was completely focused on her eyes, the glorious fear he saw in them, the way they were slowly dimming. He knew that in a moment he'd see it, see when she'd gave up, when she'd know it was pointless, that it was over, that she'd die in a minute or so.

Then she did something that completely shattered his coveted numbness. She stopped struggling and placed her palm on his cheek, an action that wouldn't have stopped him on its own, but for the tender look that accompanied it. A look that would later haunt him until the day he died. In that second in time, there was no fear in her eyes, no hatred or burning accusation, only acceptance and a faint sense of forgiveness. She understood.

It was as if someone had slammed a knee into his gut. Michael released her so abruptly and forcefully that he slammed her back into the wall in the process. Her head impacted with a loud crack and she crumpled to the floor completely motionless.

For the first time in his life, Michael stood frozen in place. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even breathe, he couldn't even if he wanted to. He simply stood there, staring at the empty wall in front of him, at the web-like crack in the plaster. There was only a sensation he didn't exactly know how to name. A strange pressure in his chest and a tightness in his own throat, like invisible fingers doing the same to him that he did to her. Nothing lasting or monumental, just a twinge in both places, but enough for him to know it was there.

Michael snapped his head down to look at Christine when faint rasping noises registered in his ears. She was breathing; small, shallow and labored breaths, but breathing nonetheless. He hadn't killed her. She was alive, unconscious, but alive. Some of the pressure he felt eased at the realization, and almost completely vanished as he crouched down and carefully gathered her into his arms.

Slowly moving to the couch so as not to jostle her too much, Michael realized that his previous plans of "letting her come to him" would have to change drastically, he'd pretty much shot everything to hell the moment he'd let his anger override his rational thought. The fact remained that he still wanted her, and he was by no means done with her.

Christine woke up with a splitting headache so intense she was afraid to move an inch, and a throat so sore she could barely swallow her own saliva, much less anything resembling water. It took her a moment of adjusting to the throbbing pain before memory unfolded like a horror movie in her battered head. Lying completely still and with her eyes closed, Christine listened to the sounds of her home for any indication of Michael's presence. She didn't hear anything, but that meant nothing, Michael could move like a ghost when he wanted to. Opening her eyes, she was met with the living room ceiling, meaning she was lying on the couch, and after struggling to peer over the top of it, apparently alone in the house. She sincerely doubted he'd be hiding in her bedroom.

There was no sign of him anywhere. If it weren't for the fact that she was in pain, Christine would have thought that the whole hellish week had just been a terrible nightmare. _I'm never that lucky. _

Getting up, she had to fight a wave of dizziness before she could move to her room to pack a bag, muttering **"There is no way in hell I'm staying here a moment longer the necessary."** Even as she said it, her voice broke and tears threatened, her mind already forming excuses for his behavior. Stopping in her tracks at the sight of her bruised throat in the bedroom mirror, Christine glared determinately at her reflection, noting the tangled hair, puffy, swollen eyes and faint outlines of fingers on her skin where he'd hurt her.

Leaning into the mirror, she snapped at the weakling looking back at her with bleary eyes **"Look at what he did, you naïve twit! He doesn't deserve your tears! Stop deluding yourself! He doesn't care! In fact, he doesn't give a rats ass about you!" **her voice grew so loud she was screaming, and when she saw a tear fall Christine couldn't handle the sight of it. Grabbing the glass horse her mother had sent her from Venice from the nightstand, Christine threw it at the mirror with a strangled cry** "NO MORE!"** Falling to her knees, she didn't even hear the glass shattering, the only sound in the house were her sobs as she cried for a man she couldn't bring herself to hate and a woman she was starting to resent, because she had started to fall in love with a monster.

It may have been hours later or maybe just one hour that Christine finally stopped crying her eyes out. She wasn't sure and she didn't much care how long she'd been huddled on the floor. A bit numb from everything that had happened, she noticed that it was completely dark in the room. Getting up was a feat of will, her whole body was spent and sore, but she forced herself to do it, like she forced herself to pile a few items of clothing, her hairbrush and a toothbrush into a backpack.

After changing into jeans and a turtleneck, she was out the door and in her car, speeding to god knew where.

After driving for only a few minutes, Christine stopped at a red light on Main Street, looking out her side window at a very familiar sign; **"Barr's Books & Beverages"**. She had no idea what possessed her to turn her car into the back parking lot, or go up the stairs, or knock on his door. The only thing she knew was that she was in pain, scared and exhausted, and very much in need of a friend.

To say that James was surprised to see her on his doorstep, clutching a backpack and looking like death warmed over at ten p.m. would have been an understatement. He gaped.

Christine gave him the best smile she could muster (which decidedly wasn't much) **"Hi, James…umm…I'm sorry to come over like this…but…I didn't know where else to go and…uhh…" **while he tried to catch flies with his jaw down, Christine was starting to get nervous. _Maybe this wasn't such a great idea…_ Turning to leave she mumbled **"I'm sorry, this was a mis-"**

Before she could finish backing out and away, James snapped his mouth shut and caught her elbow **"No! I'm sorry, I was just surprised to see you here. Please, come on in Christine." **

She gave him a grateful smile **"Thanks."**

While he led her to the living room, he gave her a frown **"What's wrong with your voice?" **

Christine knew he'd notice she'd been practically whispering. Waving a dismissive hand, she lied **"Nothing really, just a sore throat." **Hoping he wouldn't press the issue.

He quirked an eyebrow **"Just a sore throat? Seem like a lot more than that to me." **Gesturing at her, her fumbled **"You look …well…"**

"**Like shit?" **she supplied, grinning as he blushed.

Shaking his head with a laugh, James countered, **"I was going to be a gentleman and say "run down" or maybe "under the weather", but since you put it so eloquently… yeah, you look like shit."**

Shrugging, she sat on the couch **"Feel like it too."** Seeing he was about to ask her questions she didn't know how to answer, Christine cut him off **"Please, I really don't want to talk about it right now." **He still looked like he wanted to ask, so she placed her hand on his arm, pleading with her eyes for him to let it go for now **"Please James."**

James frowned at her questioningly for a moment but then sighed, relenting **"Alright." **Giving her a determined look, he warned **"But you will tell me eventually Christine."** They both knew it wasn't a request. Looking her over from head to toe, James smiled **"Red or white?"**

Confused by the sudden change in topic, Christine blinked **"What?"**

His smile turned into a full blown grin **"Lady, you look like you could use a drink. So, what'll it be? Red or white?"**

Chuckling, she sank back into the sofa and tucked her feet under her **"Red. And bring the bottle." **

Two bottles and an action movie later, Christine was more than ready to pass out right where she was for the next day or so, she was that wrung out. Not because of the alcohol, that was just a decent buzz, it was more to do with her life hitting the proverbial fan. How could everything go wrong so quickly? How could her life be completely turned inside out in a matter of days? Was she a masochist? How could she be so stupid as to fall for-

"**You do know he's a jackass, right?" **

Jolted out of her mental self-flagellation, Christine turned horrified eyes to James. How did he know? Dear Lord, had she said something out loud? Maybe she was more loaded than she'd thought!

Noticing her stricken expression and where her thoughts were headed, James rolled his eyes **"You didn't say anything….but then again you didn't have to." **He winked, but there wasn't much amusement in the gesture **"You have an expressive face, Christine. Besides-" **he shrugged **"-you can always spot a fella in the same boat."**

It was impossible to pretend she didn't know what he meant, and it was also impossible to say anything meaningful that would take away his pain. If she tried, she'd be a hypocrite and a liar, so the only thing she could think of to do was squeeze his hand, letting him know she could sympathise.

Thankfully, James decided to call it a night, putting an end to an awkward moment. Getting up, he pulled her to her feet, **"Come on, time for bed you little wino."**

Christine dug in her heels when she noticed where he'd pushed/pulled her to; his bedroom **"Oh no, I'm taking the couch, Mr. Enabler."**

Giving her a firm push into the room, he nodded **"Oh yes, you're taking the bed-" **a wolfish grin split his lips** "-or we'll both be sleeping on the couch, your choice." **Turning to look over his shoulder and then back at her, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively **"It'll definitely be a tight squeeze though. Lucky for you I'm a cuddler."**

Laughing, Christine relented **"You win!" **Flipping her hair and batting her lashes, she gave him an innocent look and deadpanned **"I'll take the bed."**

Moving to the closet to retrieve a pillow and blanket, he shook his head in an exaggerated show of disappointment **"You have a real lousy definition of winning babe." **As soon as he opened the closet door a pillow smacked him directly in the face. Christine had to stifle a giggle at the absurd way he glared at the attacking piece of fluff. Moving forward and swooping down, she quickly scooped it up and gave it a good whack. Looking up she was about to make a comment about how sneaky and deceptive linen could be, but the words died in her throat. James was staring at her. _He looks like he's about to…oh dear…_

She was right. Placing his hands on either side of her face, James searched her eyes for any sign of reluctance or dismissal. When he didn't find any, he slowly leaned down and kissed her.

And as far as kisses went, it was a nice kiss, a good kiss, a tender kiss between a man that cared for the woman that loved another. And Christine gave him that one kiss because she knew he'd never ask for another or ask for more than she could give.

And she kissed him back because she did like him, and because he was a good friend, and because once in a while you have to do something for someone when they need it. Even if it was as big or as small as a kiss.

Reluctantly ending the kiss, James, gently touched his forehead to hers and sighed. Moving her hands from his shoulders to the hands cupping her face, Christine squeezed his fingers in what she hopped was a comforting gesture **"James,-" **

He stopped her from speaking by running his thumb over her lips, whispering **"I know. But I had to try." **The sadness in his eyes almost broke her heart.

"**I know." **And she did.


End file.
